


You Have No Imagination (of What Lies in Limbo)

by Snowsheba



Category: Homestuck, Inception (2010)
Genre: Asexual Character, Crossover, F/M, Inception - Freeform, M/M, Multi, among other sexualities, inceptionstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowsheba/pseuds/Snowsheba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dream a little bigger, darling, even Dirk can do better that that,” Dave says, and Roxy gives him a miffed look over her AK-47 when your brother pulls out an RPG.</p><p>You can't help but grin to yourself when he pulls the trigger.</p><p>(Or, in which the author takes the movie Inception and combines it with Homestuck characters. CURRENTLY ON HIATUS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. crossfire

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the movie _Inception_ last week.
> 
> So. Uh. Here?
> 
> (be warned: if you haven't seen the movie, this will probably seem very, _very_ confusing.)

“He was delirious, but he asked for you specifically by name, ma’am.

All he had on him was this,” a pistol, unloaded, is placed on the expansive mahogany dining table, “And this.”

You blink, slowly. The other object is, if you’re not mistaken, a simple metronome – but simple or not, its familiarity rings true in your breast.

“Bring him here,” you say, your voice croaking in your throat. The guard salutes and leaves, as you fold your hands in front of you and observe the old, gnarled fingers in front of you, stiff with arthritis, speckled with age.

You were young, once, in this land of pure creation, in this expansive mansion that echoes of your homeland yet breathes modernity. But you are old, now, and as the crystal chandelier bends the light into a soft glow, you can almost feel the loneliness eat away at your bones.

The man the guards bring before you is tall and gangly, a little ragged around the edges but sporting what used to be a neat, elegant suit and a pair of unusual sunglasses. This, too, strikes you as familiar, and you lean forward, gesturing for a guard to bring him something to eat. The man says nothing when the bowl of gruel is placed before him, though he eats voraciously as soon as the guard steps away.

You don’t pick up the metronome. Instructions overheard eons ago warn you off its significance to the man before you; daring to turn it on would make its existence obsolete. Still, the man can’t miss the way you look at it, as if it is both a priceless treasure and a freakish anomaly, even as he hardly lifts his head from the bowl resting before him.

A few more moments of silence pass, before you decide that it is time you ask him a question that has been burning within you ever since he stepped into the room.

He freezes momentarily when you ask raggedly, “Are you here to kill me?”

A heartbeat passes. Then he’s eating again, as if you hadn’t said a word, and you nudge the metronome with a finger to regain his attention.

“I know what this is,” you tell him, though by all appearances he doesn’t seem to be paying you any mind as you continue, “It belonged to a man from a half-remembered dream.

“A man possessed by some radical notions...”

* * *

_Some days in the past (but not many)..._

* * *

“Do you know what the most resilient kind of parasite is, Harley?” When the young woman sitting primly in front of you doesn’t seem inclined to respond, you throw out some suggestions, the gentleman you are. “A bacteria, perhaps? A virus?” Pause. “An intestinal worm?”

Dave gives you a pained look over his shades when Harley’s fork pauses momentarily in the air, suspended over her lo mein noodles, before sighing inaudibly and telling her, “Look, what my brother is _trying_ to say is – ”

“An idea,” you finish, a little triumphantly when Harley’s head tilts minutely, indicating her interest. “Highly resilient, equally contagious. Once the brain has this idea, it’s pretty much impossible to eradicate.”

“Eradicate.” She sounds doubtful.

“Yes. You could cover it up, pretend it’s not there – but it stays. It always stays.”

“It would be fair to say you could forget it, though, would it not?” Harley says. You can tell your brother’s rolling his eyes behind his shades – he’s heard your pitch so often, he knows what’s coming after her query – as you let a small smirk play over your lips.

“Information can be forgotten easily, Harley.” You tap a temple. “But an idea? An idea that’s fully formed, fully understood? That doesn’t go away.” Cue a sweeping gesture with your arm. “It’s always in there, somewhere.”

One of Harley’s eyebrows goes up, though she says mildly, “For someone like _you_ to steal.”

You look at Dave, and at his cue, he easily slips into the conversation. “It’s called extraction, Harley. When you get your shut-eye at the end of the day, as soon as you enter the dream state, your conscious defenses are lowered. And yes, that’s when people like _us_ can get in and steal your shit.”

You raise a finger, drawing the young woman’s attention back to you. “Our offer is simple: we can train your subconscious to defend itself from the most skilled extractor, if you are interested.”

Her other eyebrow rises to join the first. “And how can you do that?”

“Because I am the most skilled extractor.” Again, Dave rolls his eyes, and you ignore him, standing up and spreading your arms. “I know how to search your mind and find your secrets, Harley, and trust me when I say I know every trick in the book.” You let the tiniest smile curl your lip. “I can teach your mind to defend itself with an army of guns and tanks even when you are asleep.”

“But?” Harley prompts, and you admit, you may have underestimated her a bit. She may be young, but she is very smart, and the way her lime-colored eyes watch you make you a just a teeny bit nervous.

“The catch is you have to be completely open with me.” Your arms drop from their ‘hail Jesus’ position when her mouth opens, and this prompts her into silence as you tell her, “I need to know you better than your therapist. Better than the husband you don’t have.”

“I don’t have a therapist.”

Dave snorts so quietly only you can hear it, and despite yourself, barely detectable irritation creeps into your voice as you say, “Look, you get the idea. Like, if you have a diary in here somewhere, I need to know what secrets you’ve written inside.” You pause, and then say for emphasis, “You have to let me in.”

She smirks, as she says, “Indeed,” and then she leans back from her meal, smug as she examines her fingernails. You suppose that she has the right; the whole therapist deal casts some well-deserved scorn on your part. You would be a little haughty if you were her, as well.

“So?” Dave prompts her.

There’s a pause, a lull that makes you uneasy, and the smile on her face becomes sharper, more dangerous as she stands.

“Gentlemen,” she says, rising from her chair. “Please, enjoy your evening while I consider your very gracious offer.” Her attendant gives you both a slight nod as the two exit through the double doors, returning to the lavish party beyond.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Dave murmurs, “She knows.”

A slight tremor shakes the world. You reach out to steady a wineglass on the table, looking up when dust crumbles from the ceiling, and Dave checks his watch. You know without looking that the second hand is ticking oddly slow.

“Wonder what’s going on up there,” your brother says, and he gets to his feet when you gesture towards the door.

* * *

Dirk twitches in his sleep, and you return your attention to him. He’s sitting in a chair that is propped on a cupboard, therefore level with a full, steaming bathtub right behind him. This is a setup you were a little confused by, but you didn’t question it all too much, and at the moment you ignore it in favor of flipping his wrist over.

The two needles are plunged into the vein, and one of them, a yellow tube, slinks into to the other room, where you can see that Dave and Ms. Harley are quiet and still. The dream is still stable even as the building you are in shakes, and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief as you move out of the bathroom to check on the others.

Ms. Harley is lying on the bed, seemingly living a peaceful dream, while Dave’s face is entirely expressionless as he sits in his chair. The sedative is still flowing into their bodies, with both yellow tubes from Dirk and the lady nestled into Dave’s wrist, and you briefly check the silver suitcase containing the contraption – only to end up startling when an explosion echoes from outdoors.

You go to the windows and move the curtains just enough to take a peek. There are rioters out there, slashing and burning everything they can get their hands on – but there’s still time, and there’s nothing you can do about those people right now.

You tell yourself this as the world temporarily goes off-kilter, and you stumble.

* * *

If you’re being honest, you’re not sure why you’re doing this, but there’s money involved and you aren’t about to complain.

The train goes over a rough patch, and the bodies of your fellow occupants bounce and rock slightly. You wring your fingers and find yourself biting your lips, as you eye them all nervously.

There’s the lead man, who’d introduced himself as Dirk, and his colleagues, who’d called themselves Dave and Eridan. Lastly, most importantly, there was a young woman who went by Ms. Harley. You’d have to be stupid to not know who she was – head of a prominent organization that focused on alternative sources of energy – but you’d feigned ignorance, mostly in fear following a thorough threatening by both Dirk and Dave’s bladekind strife syllabus.

You check all of their wrists. As Dirk had directed, yellow tubes connect Dave, Dirk and Ms. Harley with Eridan, whose head bops gently against the window as the train rumbles over another obstacle. They are all connected to the silver briefcase’s insides, which does something you don’t really understand or want to know.

There’s a solid whump as another train passes from the opposite direction, and you watch as the people around you jerk with the movement. You wonder what’s going on inside their dreams, sleeping so deeply they are.

* * *

You and Dave are on the rooftop, now. It’s seems you’re in a Japanese castle, and the terraces here are quite pleasant and spacious. The two of you look cling to the rail and look over the edge as the world trembles again. Below, stones and bricks fall into a roiling black sea, and you make a mental note to ask Dave about it later.

Speaking of Dave, he is saying quietly, “She _knows_ , Dirk. She’s playing with us.”

You sigh, run a hand through your hair. “We’re almost there. As soon as I mentioned secrets, she looked straight at the safe – that’s where we need to go.”

Dave tilts his head and gives a nod so slightly only you could possibly see it. Then his poker face frowns a little more deeply, looking over your shoulder, and he asks, “What’s he doing here, bro?”

You turn, and even though you hate yourself for it, your breath catches in your throat. Him being here is a bad omen, and you know very well that you need to be cautious, to be evasive if he asks any questions – but he’s still as achingly beautiful as you’ve always remembered, as you’ve always dreamed, and god _dammit_ this wasn’t the time to have him wrestle into the operation.

“Just get back to the room, Dave,” you say, a little tightly. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Mm-hm.” Your brother knows you very well, and it’s just as irritating as it was the first time he finished a sentence for you. “See that you do, because we’re on a job here, remember.”

With that, he strides forward, brushing past the man’s toned shoulder with a look akin to disgust. The man, for his part, only looks amused as he watches after him, and then he turns and closes the distance between you. You don’t quite dare look at him straight in the eye, and he leans on the railing and stares at the black sea churning beneath his feet.

He says suddenly, “If I jumped, would I survive?”

Your answer is staccato, sharp and leaving a sting. “If you went all-out and did a swan dive, sure.” Pause. “Jake, why are you here?”

He gives you a small smile that still melts your heart after all of this time, and tells you, “I thought you might miss me.”

“More than you could ever know,” you murmur, and then raise your voice and tell him, “Problem with that is that I can’t trust you anymore, Jake.”

He shrugs, a ripple of muscle that can’t be hidden even with his posh suit jacket, and a chill run downs your spine as he says sweetly, “So what?”

You hate how easily you’re convinced.

* * *

You have your back to him when Jake says, “Picasso, eh? I remember your brother liked him.”

“Actually, it’s the Ms. Harley who digs contemporary abstract art. Dave’s moved on to shitty .jpeg crap made in MS Paint.” Not that abstract art is ever _not_ contemporary, but eh, details. You eject a rope from your sylladex, turning to gesture to the solitary armchair in the bedroom. “Can you sit for me?”

Jake comes over and plops down into the armchair, as if the world was weighing on his shoulders, and you bend down to tie the rope around the chair’s legs.

“Does Seb miss me?”

You pause mid-knot. Then you let your hand run down his calf, and look up at his face. Your voice is surprisingly cold.

“You couldn’t imagine.”

The words have the desired effect; Jake looks away, biting his lip, and you keep a stony expression on your face as you finish the knot, pulling on it a few times to ascertain its strength. Then you bring it over to the window, pounding it open with a well-placed punch.

“What are you doing?” Jake asks.

“Getting some air,” you respond, throwing the rope out and leaning out to see how far it falls. Far enough, you think, and you turn your head to look back at him as you prepare to leap. “Don’t move. Please.”

He gives you that smile again that once made you do stupid things, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you give him one last glance before dropping down. The air whistles past your ears as you count the windows, waiting, and once you draw near you slow yourself and rappel down until you are outside of the kitchens. It takes a moment for you to remove the glass cutter from your sylladex, and you nearly drop it when the rope suddenly slacks.

It occurs to you as you fall that Jake must have gotten off the chair. Contrary bastard. At least that hadn’t changed, you muse ruefully, and fortunately you stop only ten or so feet below your desired window. It takes only some efforts to climb back to the proper position, and then you secure the glass cutter and get to work.

A few moments later you drop silently into the kitchen, and your katana flips into your hands as you move forward on cat’s paws. There’s a guard stationed outside, and you tiptoe towards him, a quiet shadow. He doesn’t hear you until it’s too late, and you make sure none of his blood makes its way onto your jacket as you lower his body carefully to the floor.

A few more guards are dispatched similarly, and then you reach the dining room you had just left, now dark and empty. It’s easy for you to slip through the doors and locate the suspicious painting Harley had glanced at. Removing it reveals a safe, as you had thought, and you open it easily, finding the yellow envelope inside.

You fold it and it disappears into your sylladex. You are just about to remove an identical one when the lights come on, and you freeze, katana in hand.

“Turn around, mister Strider.” Harley’s voice is unmistakable, and there’s an edge to it that you haven’t heard her peppy voice take before. You do as she says, and find that it’s Jake who is pointing an ancient pistol that he so loved at your head.

“Put away the sword, there’s a good chap,” he says.

You stare at him, and Harley motions with her hand. Two guards drag your brother in, and he gives you a _welp_ look over his shades as Jake’s gun moves to press against his temple.

You feel pathetically helpless when the katana pops back into the syllabus, and Dave’s lips thin. He doesn’t know what you’re planning, but you know that he trusts you, and his mouth thus remains tightly shut.

“Now the envelope, mister Strider. Make it snappy.”

Feeling a little foolish, you take the envelope out of your sylladex and place it flat on the table. Then you step back and put your arms in the air.

You nod at Jake. “Did he tell you, or did you already know?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, mister Strider,” Harley replies, eyebrow arching. “Are you asking whether you are here to steal from me,” pause, probably for dramatic effect, “Or that we are actually asleep?”

Dave gives you an _I-told-you-so_ look over his shades, and it doesn’t fade when Jake nudges him with his gun. Your brother can be stupidly fearless when his ego is inflated, and being right about something tends to make him puff up a bit.

“Who hired you?” Harley demands, snapping you out of your glaring contest. When you don’t respond immediately, Jake cocks the gun beside her, still pointing it at Dave’s temple.

“No need for that,” you tell him, your own eyebrow rising. “You know there’s no point in threats in a dream.”

“That depends, mate,” Jake says with an easy, lopsided grin. “Killing him would just wake him up, of course! But pain is most deplorable, wouldn’t you say? Pain is in the mind.” Lightning-quick, his gun flashes down to your brother’s leg and a gunshot echoes in the halls. Dave lets out a faint hiss, but other than that and the tight expression on his face, the fact that he is in agony is nearly imperceptible.

“Besides,” Jake says lightly, “Given that Picasso earlier, I’d have to say we’re in your brother’s mind. Isn’t that so, Dave?”

“Caught me,” your brother replies. He’s both stalling for time and being an ass. “Literally and figuratively, too. Guess you might be wantin’ some kudos for that, huh?”

You still haven’t answered Harley’s question, and even Dave’s silver tongue couldn’t talk you out of this one. Jake’s gun lowers until it’s aiming at Dave’s good leg, and while your brother gives you a look that says he could take it, you know very well that you couldn’t watch him in his current state for long.

“Today, if you don’t mind,” Harley says, and before she finishes speaking you’ve already flashstepped over and slit Dave’s throat. His eyes flicker once before glazing over, and he drops to the floor, dead, while the room lets out a tremendous shudder.

You dart out the door in the confusion, documents in hand, and Harley’s voice rises as she demands Jake to tell her what is going on.

* * *

Your eyes blink open, and quite calmly you tear out the tubes running into your wrist. Eridan scrambles to his feet as you do so, and you stand from your chair as the tubes drop the floor.

“What’re you doing?” he hisses, frantically picking up the fallen tubes as if he might be able to do something with them. “You’re early, the timer hasn’t – ”

“I already know, numbnuts,” you respond as you drop by the silver case near your feet. Two sets of tubes are connected now; the third, once yours, must be closed off. “Help me close the loop.”

Eridan takes a deep breath and nods, rushing into the bathroom, as you kneel by Harley’s wrist and take her hand. The tubes are still connected securely, and you run some quick calculations, determining that you still have a few minutes to complete the task.

You call instructions to Eridan and set to work.

* * *

Killing Dave may not have been the smartest move, but his death and the consequent collapsing dream are infinitely better than watching him suffer. This you know to be completely and utterly true, even as fear makes your heart rate flutter.

You grind your teeth as you surge forward, stepping lightly as the building bucks and heaves all around you. You don’t need to stay here long, just enough to read through the documents in the envelope, but you don’t have much time. Three minutes, at most, unless Dave manages to close the loop.

You stumble when the world abruptly shifts sideways but regain your footing as masonry tumbles from the ceiling, only to duck down when gunshots ring out from behind you. _Pistolkind_ , your mind supplies as you dodge around an entire sheet of drywall dropping from above, _maybe a riflekind, too_ , and you jump from your falling platform to a steadier one, slamming your back against a solid wall and tearing into the envelope.

Back in the other room, Harley’s folder is blank. Meanwhile, yours is stamped with _Confidential_ and contains all the information you were looking for. What can you say – you’re simply the best there is, and you quickly scan all you can before another gunshot, close by, spurs you onward to find more cover. There’s no way Harley won’t be sending more people after you now, and given that nothing around you has stabilized, it’s fair to say that Dave has failed and it’s only a matter of time before the dream collapses completely. You have to finish reading everything before it’s too late.

You slip into a hallway and then into the first door on the right, finding the room blessedly devoid of anyone, and hunker down to continue scanning. The three sheets of paper take you no more than a number of seconds –

* * *

“Shit,” you hiss, sitting back from the silver case. There’s nothing you can do now, and you turn your head so quickly that you feel the bones crack. “Eridan, this isn’t going to work. Wake him up!”

Eridan, in the bathroom, nods and turns back to slap Dirk solidly across the face. This fails, and he grabs your brother’s shoulders and shakes him hard enough that audible cracks echo from his bones, but you can see that it isn’t working –

* * *

You’re flung sideways suddenly, and you stumble, trying to get your footing, “Come on, Dirk, just one more paragraph,” you mutter as you try to finish reading –

* * *

You hear yourself scream, voice arcing high into the air when the ceiling comes down, and your head whips side-to-side, looking for Jake who was just there who isn’t anymore, crushing pain coming down on your skull –

* * *

“Mother _fucker_ ,” you hiss, scrambling over to Harley’s side, catching her wrist and taking two tubes in your hands. Dirk still has more time than you do at the moment, but you have to hurry; there’s still a chance you might be able to close the loop if you could just –

“He isn’t waking up!” Eridan yells from the bathroom.

Jesus Christ on a cracker you don’t have time for this. “Dunk him!”

“What?!”

“The bathtub, dumbass! Throw the chair back into – ” You stop midway when Harley sits up, pointing a very real rifle at your head, one finger held to her lips for silence. You know your pokerface is flawless, but holding back the sliver of fear takes more effort than you could have ever expected –

* * *

You look up when the door is flung open and the windows burst through and water rushes in, engulfing you and throwing you around as if you are nothing more than a rag doll. You desperately try to find up, to find something besides water to breath in, but you can’t see and you think you’re aimed down –

* * *

You launch yourself out of the tub, gasping for air, and Harley bursts into the room, taking Eridan down to the floor with a full-body tackle. Dave stands behind her, but as soon as you lunge out of the tub his sword is out, disarming Harley with a flick of the blade, and you drive the hilt of your katana into her skull.

She lies on the floor, dazed, as Dave helps Eridan to his feet and you stare down at her for a few moments. Then you shake yourself a bit, and tell Eridan, “Grab her arms, bring her into the bedroom,” going there yourself with Dave at your side.

Your brother stations himself at the window, observing the rioters outdoors, as Harley pulls herself out of her stupor. She doesn’t seem surprised to find her hands restricted, and she eyes you coolly as you sit on the chair Dave had used previously.

“Brought your gun along, I see,” you say, more as a conversation-starter than anything.

She shrugs. “None of my personal guard know about this apartment. I figured I should be prepared for the worst.” Her smile is bitter. “I just didn’t expect the worst to have three against one.”

“Playing fair doesn’t win battles,” you reply.

“Point. Still, how did you find this place? I only ever use it when I need to take a breather from work.”

This time it’s your turn to shrug. “A higher-up like you has to have tails. Wasn’t hard to find one and ask them for the goods.”

She looks puzzled, as she asks, “How could they know what specific apartment I own?”

“Fuck if I know, maybe they looked through your financial records like total stalkers. Anyway, we’re here now, aren’t we?” Her silence is answer enough. “Hate to realize you’re not as good as you think you are, huh?”

“Well, you did manage to get what you wanted, so I guess so.” Her eyes, while defeated, hold a bit of admiration in them. “Kudos to you.”

“Mm, not quite. Those files I had – I’m pretty sure something was missing. Probably the most important thing, actually. You’re still hiding it, aren’t you?”

Harley doesn’t respond.

“Yo, Dirk,” Dave says suddenly, but not intrusively. It’s one of his skills you’d always wished you had – where you clunk around a bit awkwardly in conversation, anything Dave says, even if he’s just swearing, sounds like the purest classical music. “Might wanna wrap this up, they’re getting closer.”

* * *

The train has been riding smoothly for a few minutes, and you eye the silver case on the floor. The timer is nearing forty seconds, and as per instruction, you take an MP3 and a pair of headphones out of your sylladex.

* * *

“In fact, I’d think it’s fair to say that you held something back because you knew what was happening from the very beginning.”

“Maybe,” she says. “But then again, maybe not.”

“Either way,” you say, “Why let us in at all?”

She smiles. “Let’s call it an audition.”

You frown. “For what?”

“It doesn’t matter, because you all failed.”

“Well, we did manage to get all of your information,” you point out. “I hardly see that as failure.”

“But I could tell what was going on. Can you call that success?”

You sigh. “Point.”

* * *

There are four timers in total in the silver case, along with complicated mechanism with syringes and controllers. The one you’re looking at is at thirty-five seconds, and you wiggle over to where Eridan is sitting.

A few seconds later, when the timer hits thirty, you put the headphones on his ears.

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, past the carnage and the tense atmosphere in the room, music echoes from beyond. You ignore it, already knowing what it means, and Eridan and Dave stay likewise silent.

“You might as well let me go,” Harley says. “I don’t need to see more, seeing as you’ve let me down.”

“Ah, but you still haven’t told us what we needed, Harley.” Your katana flips into your hand, and you use the back edge under her chin to raise her head. “Do that, and then we’ll leave.”

“I hardly think it’s important,” she says, mindful of the blade that is very close to her throat.

“Maybe not for you,” you say. “But our lives are on the line right now.”

“Dirk,” Dave warns. You hadn’t noticed, but the rioters are getting louder. So is the music, and your brother glances at his watch. “Finish it up, bro.”

You don’t waste any time, nodding at Eridan to release her while you quickly and efficiently flip Harley onto the ground. “So,” you say, prodding her back with your shoe. “Out with it.”

When she doesn’t say anything, you press the sword to the side of her neck; one look into your eyes tells her you will, in fact, kill her should she not answer. Her eyes close, for a few moments, and you know you’ve won – right up until she starts to giggle.

“I haven’t vacuumed this carpet in two months, you know.”

You look over at Eridan, and Dave would, too, were he not peering out the window. The other man shrugs his shoulders, his expression uneasy.

“I always bring my dog with me when I come here. Big white beast. He leaves fur everywhere.” A smirk plays upon her lips, and her eyes open. “But that’s what’s missing. No fur. No smell. Why, I’d wager that we are, in fact, still in a dream.”

Dave makes a warning sound in the back of his throat. The music swells, ever-closer – and then your brother is gone.

“A dream within a dream,” Harley says, getting to her feet, heedless of your sword. You don’t bother with it anymore – store it away in your sylladex. What else can you do? You’ve failed, and Skaia Corp. will have your hides. “Intriguing.”

“You can say that,” Eridan says. Contrary to the situation, his voice is surprisingly lax.

“But if we are still dreaming, and this is my dream… well.” Harley cracks her knuckles. “I should be able to control it, no?”

“Maybe,” Eridan says. Harley looks over at him, confused by his smirk.

“We’re not in _your_ dream, Ms. Harley,” you say, and then your eyes open and you are in a train. Eridan stirs a moment later, smirking widely now, and Dave is already working on removing tubes and wires from everyone’s wrists, his motions harried and a little violent.

“Asshole,” he snaps at Eridan, whose smirk immediately fades. “How the fuck did you mess up the carpet?”

“It’s not _my_ fault,” Eridan sniffs.

“You’re the fucking architect, and you – ”

“Look, I didn’t know she was going to faceplant into the goddamn floor, dickwad!”

You pull them apart with practiced ease, silencing them both with a harsh glare, and Dave gets back to work on Harley’s wrist while Eridan begins to pack up.

A timid voice surprises you. “How did it go?” Tavros asks.

“Not good.” You give him a quick glance – he’d done his job very well, fortunately for you – and eject a roll of money from your sylladex, handing it off to him. He takes it quietly and then sits back, removing a book from his sylladex as you turn to Dave and Eridan. “Let’s go.”

“We’re not finished with this business, you know,” Dave growls, working the contraption with lightning hands. “Dude, what the hell was that down there? Why the fuck did fucking Jake show up?”

“I had it under control.”

“Darling, I do not want to be there when you have it _out_ of control – ”

“Fuck you.”

“You _told_ me it was getting better – ”

“Let’s just get off this thing, all right.”

Dave sends you an irritated glance as he rolls up more wires into the silver case; but then he sighs, knowing when to shut up and just roll with your stubborn ass, as Eridan says, “Why? It’s not like he’s going to get on his hands and knees and search every single goddamn compartment in this fucking train.”

He has a point with that, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Dave, thankfully, interjects before you get too wound up.

“I can keep her under for a minute,” he says, pressing down on the center button of the briefcase. Harley twitches slightly, mouth slightly agape, and then Dave removes the two tubes from her wrists and winds them expertly into the silver case before snapping it shut. He shoulders it for a moment, then tucks it into his sylladex as he nods at you. “Lead the way, bro.”

“Nah. Every man for himself. Everyone remember the rendezvous point?” Two nods. “Good. Now run.”

You exit the compartment and go straight forward, Dave tagging along before cutting in a different direction. Eridan heads the opposite way from the start, and soon enough, it’s as if everyone has vanished.

You get off at Kyoto, and head for the hotel. Dave and Eridan will be there soon enough.

* * *

You awaken without much fanfare, just opening your eyes and vaguely looking around at the surroundings. You’re in a fast train, and your one fellow occupant is reading quietly. When you stare at him for a moment, his eyes flicker upwards, meeting yours for just a few moments before flicking down to his book again.

“Hi,” you tell him.

He bobs his head and burrows further into his book. You crack a smile – nervous around ladies, you suppose – and then you feel a sharp pain at your wrist. There is a small pockmark near the vein, when you take a look.

You lean your head back, eyes closing, and smile.


	2. lesson learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the script of _Inception_ :
> 
> COBB: They say we only use a fraction of the true potential of our brains... but they're talking about when we're _awake_. When we're asleep, our mind performs wonders.  
>  ARIADNE: Such as?  
> COBB: How do you imagine a building? You consciously create each aspect, puzzling over it in stages... But sometimes, when your mind _flies_ -  
>  ARIADNE: I'm _discovering_ it.  
>  COBB: Exactly. Genuine inspiration.

DIRK

You’re sitting in the hotel room quietly, tossing the metronome from hand to hand as you wait. Anxiety makes your muscles coiled, and you force them to relax, rolling your shoulders as you lean back into the armchair

The metronome, when you turn it on, drones at a steady eighty beats a minute. At every third one there’s a slight hiccup, and when you switch it off, its voice dies like a persistent hacking cough. You are in reality – not that you’d ever been uncertain as to such. And if you were, you’d never admit it.

The phone rings, suddenly, and a bit cautiously you pick it up, though you’ve been expecting the call.

“Dad?”

Despite everything, a smile graces your lips. “Hey, Seb. How are you?”

“I’m okay. I skinned my knee earlier today but it’s all better now, I think. Grandpa taped it up for me.”

Sebastian is hardly five years old, but he talks and thinks like he’s in college. People always used to tell you that he had gained your mental capacity and your partner’s physical strength, never mind the fact that only one of you had contributed to his gene pool, and you think they were right, somehow.

A languid image of Jake pops up in your mind, and you quickly shove it down and away, responding to Seb’s words. “You’re just okay, huh? Nothing exciting happened today?”

“Not really.” Pause. “When are you coming home?”

You let out a long, inaudible sigh. “We already talked about this, Seb. I can’t come back right now.”

You can practically feel his exasperation emanating from the phone. “Because you’re working?”

“Because I’m working.”

“Grandpa says you’re never coming back, you know.”

“Well, Grandpa can go suck a dick.” Seb snorts, and you ask him, “Can you put him on the phone?”

“He’s giving me the wagging finger gesture, which means no.” You remember that gesture very well, and you grin as Seb’s voice drops to a whisper. “Uncle Dave talked to him earlier today, maybe he knows something.”

“Good to know, kiddo.” Really, you’re not sure what to do with Seb, sometimes. He’s too smart for his own good. You can’t wait until he’s old enough to be tripped up by attractive people; you yourself were a riot at that age, at least in retrospect. “Let’s just hope Grandpa’s wrong.”

“I guess.” Seb’s voice is doubtful, echoing your own fears, and he doesn’t help it by following up with “Is Dad with you?”

“Seb,” you say, then stop. Your son already knows the answer, but every time he asks anyway. It’s never any easier for you to tell him, either. “He’s gone, Seb. He isn’t coming back.”

“I know.” Seb is silent for a few moments. “I just wish I knew where he went.”

You rub the bridge of your nose, minding your shades. “Me too, kid.”

There’s a pause wherein you hear a low voice speaking, though you can’t distinguish the words, and then Seb says, “Grandpa wants me to get off the phone. Will you call soon?”

“I will,” you promise, both of you knowing full well that you probably will not. “Love you, Seb.”

“Love you too, Dad. Bye.”

The line going dead might as well kill you, as you slowly put the phone back into the receiver. You want to go back home so badly; you would do literally anything if the possibility were there. A shame that is isn’t, and a shame that Skaia is now hunting for your ass.

You jump when noise comes from outside, though you know immediately that the knock on the door is unmistakably Dave’s – he’s always had a better sense of rhythm and time than you do, and his knocks are artistic in a way that could be seen as stupid but is better off being viewed as ironic. Still, you’re careful, prepping the katana in your sylladex as you open the door. You let your muscles relax a bit when you see your brother leaning against the opposite wall, examining his fingernails.

“Ride’s here,” he says. You nod, releasing your mental hold on your sword, and step out, closing the door behind you. When you start to walk, he stops you by extending his foot, tapping your shin gently. “You okay, bro?”

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“I don’t know,” he says sarcastically, “Maybe because Jake English showed up all the way down in the dream?”

“Dude, I’m fine.” His eyebrows furrow over his shades, and you hastily interject, “Sorry about your leg, by the way.”

“Ain’t nothing compared to back home.” The glance you exchange is a little rueful, as you both remember strifing your brother back when you were younger – but then Dave continues needling you. “Seriously, though, man. It’s getting a helluva lot worse, isn’t it?”

“Even if it were, it’d be none of your business. Where’s Eridan?”

Your brother frowns at you, but goes along with the change of subject again. “Might’ve hightailed it for all I know, if he isn’t as dumb as I think he is. Should we wait up for him?”

“Nah, he’s a sack of shit.” Dave makes a noise of agreement. “‘Sides, we were supposed to get that info to Skaia yesterday, they’ll be looking for us now. Let’s get the fuck out of Dodge while we still can.”

The two of you walk side-by-side toward the elevator in a comfortable silence – maybe you don’t like Dave all too much at any given moment, but he is your brother, you would trust him with his life, and the two of you understand each other more than any other person in the world.

“Where’re you gonna go after this?” he asks suddenly.

“No idea. Thinkin’ about Senegal, or Argentina.” They aren’t the best options, and you quickly rack through your brain to see where else you could go – and then you snap your fingers, coming to a solution. “Buenos Aires. I think I can find a job there if I look deep enough.” You glance at him. “You?”

“States.”

“Mm.” Right, your brother can still go there. “Send my regards.”

“’Course. Been meaning to visit Bro. Want me to take something for Sebastian?”

“Don’t have anything right now, but he’s been asking for an old CRT computer to take apart for a while now.”

“Consider it done.” The elevator goes up to the roof, where a helicopter waits on the pad. The rotors are already spinning, and you lead the way, sliding open the door and about to step inside – only to freeze. 

“Evening, gentlemen,” Harley says, with a small smile. She gestures to the other seat, and you look to see Eridan. He looks to be in bad shape – nose broken, bruises over his face – and you are ready to come to his defense until Harley tells you, “He sold you out, you know! He thought I could save his life afterwards. Kind of silly of him, really.” 

She offers you a pistolkind syllabus and a handgun. At your confused look, she says patiently, “Would you like to do the honors?” 

“Hell to the fucking no,” you snap before you can attempt to filter your response. “But,” you say hastily as she takes her hand back, “I’ll take that pistolkind syllabus and pistol off your hands, if you don’t mind.” 

She shrugs languidly and lets you take both. You would say she’s kind were it not for the sharp look in her eyes. “Would you work with him again?” she asks.

Eridan casts you a desperate look, and Dave makes a low growl in his throat, urging you to shake your head. You both cast Eridan a steely look as two of Harley’s bodyguards drag him out of the helicopter and then away, and then the two of you seat yourselves across from Harley, eyeing her carefully behind your shades as guards close the doors.

“Man’s as good as dead,” Dave says, watching out the window of the rising helicopter.

“Oh, no,” Harley assures you, “I won’t touch him. Skaia, on the other hand – given what you’ve told me, I can’t assume anything good.” 

“You’d be right, darling,” Dave replies.

Harley’s head snaps over to him, offense written all over her features, and you interject, “He calls everyone that,” which is further undermined when Dave meets Harley’s eyes through his shades and raises his eyebrows, forcing you to add, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hm.”

“Look, just.” Christ. You have a terrible headache. You’re on the run. Everything’s gone wrong, your brother is being a dick, and you miss Seb. “What do you want from us, Harley?”

She fixes you with a long, even stare. You are very grateful for the shades hiding your eyes, as you blink.

“Inception,” she says at last.

“Impossible,” Dave says instantly, as he examines his nails. Maybe he got a hangnail earlier; normally he bites them ragged and can’t be bothered to give any shits about them. “Ain’t ever happened, won’t ever happen, sorry to disappoint.”

“But if you can steal ideas, how hard would it be to just, like… put one in?” Harley’s fist hits her other hand. “I mean, come on.”

“You want an example on why that’s impossible?” Dave leans forward, window and nails forgotten. “Here’s food for thought: don’t think about fucking tigers.”

Harley’s nose wrinkles. “Eww. Not the imagery I needed.”

“Not the – holy shit, yeah, that came out wrong – okay, not in the zoophile way, I mean, just don’t think about tigers.” Dave doesn’t look embarrassed at all, and you can tell he is entirely unrepentant, even if he sounds like he is. “Now what are you thinking about?”

“Well, tigers, obviously.”

“Good answer. Point here is that you know it ain’t your idea, because you know I gave it to you.” Dave taps his forehead. “Same idea with the whole plant-ideas-in-someone’s-head thing. People will always be able to figure out who gave them an idea, no matter how deep you go.”

“But couldn’t you put it in the subconscious?”

“You could, but protip: true inspiration is impossible to fake.” 

“No,” you say, and then you want to kick yourself when Dave and Harley turn to look at you. Dave, at least, knows very well it’s not impossible – you tell him everything and he tells you everything – but he knows the dangers, and so do you. Still, now that you’ve said it, you have to go with it. “It’s not impossible.”

“So you can do it?” Harley asks, eyes glinting.

“Correction: I won’t do it.”

“I’ll give you the information you need in exchange,” she offers. 

“We can figure the thing out with Skaia ourselves, darling,” Dave says, and you know he’s using the pet name just to irk her now, as he jerks a thumb at you. “Can’t convince him, he’s stubborn as an ass.” Pause. “Mule.” Another pause. “You know what, whatever, the man’s stubborn.”

“Suit yourself,” Harley says, not kindly. The helicopter flight is short, just to the airport where you and your brother can catch your planes, and she says as it begins to descend, “I do have another offer for you, actually.”

“Not interested,” you say, and as soon as the helicopter lands you reach over and open the door. 

“I think you will be if you listen.”

You pay no heed as you nimbly jump off, Dave close behind, and then she calls out, “I can get you home, to America. To your son.”

“No one can make miracles happen,” you answer without turning your head, even as you cease walking. Dave tugs on your sleeve. 

“Wouldn’t you say inception is a miracle, mister Strider?” 

“Dirk, come on – ” 

“I wouldn’t, no,” you reply, interrupting your brother. 

“Then I see no reason why you shouldn’t try, hm?”

You turn fully and see Harley’s lime-green eyes glittering at you. “Beyond the fact it’s near impossible and a lot of fucking work? I can see plenty of reasons why.” 

“I can get you back to your child, mister Strider. Surely that’s enough for you.”

“Bro, let’s just go while we can,” Dave urges. 

You would. You so definitely would, but god. _Dammit_. It’s too late now.

“How complex is the idea?” you ask curtly, and Dave lets out a frustrated groan but makes no move to stop you.

Harley smirks her victory, and says, “It isn’t very difficult at all, actually.” 

“Any idea is complex, especially if you have to plant it into someone’s mind.” 

Harley sighs but doesn’t comment, instead moving on to the next topic. “The main competitor to my energy company is in poor health. Her granddaughter, Jane Crocker, is poised to inherit the company. What I need to happen is for her to decide to dismantle the company herself, in her own self-interest.”

“Dirk,” Dave warns, one last time, and you wave him away. He’s always been your most loyal follower as he falls silent, which is lucky for you because he is the most skilled forger you have had the pleasure of working with. 

“Even if I did manage to do this for you,” you say, “How can I know that you’ll follow through?”

“Oh, I can’t convince you – I don’t have any solid proof. But you have my word, and that should be enough for you, knowing who I am.” 

She has you hook, line and sinker. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Fine,” you grind out, and she gives you a shark-like smile.

“Assemble your team, then.” She laughs, and says, “And next time, don’t choose assholes as members.”

* * *

She orders a private jet for you. A fucking _private jet_. You’re not used to this kind of luxury, but you aren’t about to complain, as you recline into the chair with a glass of really, really expensive wine that you aren’t paying for in hand.

“Bro,” Dave says quietly. You look over; he’s staring down at the glass in front of him. Unlike you, he’d gone for apple juice. “I know you really want to go home, but this – this is all kinds of ridic, man.” 

“I’ve done it before, bro. You have to go in really deep, but you know I’ve done it before.” 

“Yeah, I know. Don’t know to who, but I believe you when you say it’s possible.” Dave sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Now care to explain why the fuck we’re going to Paris?”

“Well,” you say, “We’re going to need a new architect.”

There’s a pause, and then he nods in understanding. “Maybe they’ll be better than you,” Dave says. “Think it’s possible? You were really good.” 

You don’t respond.

* * *

DAVE

“Never liked the office much, huh.”

Sollux hardly starts, instead glancing up from his desk and pushing his spectacles over his eyes. You’re sitting in the very last seat of the lecture hall on the leftmost corner, and you can see his blue eye flash when he sees you. The other, a deep shade of brown, gleams.

“Too small of a space,” the man replies, returning to his work. “I can’t hear myself think in there.”

“Mm.” You stand up and go down the stairs on the sides of the wooden rows. Sollux stops his work to watch you, resting his head on his hand. 

“Is it safe for you to be here?” he asks, after some silence, and then explains, “Because if you’re here, that means Dirk is nearby.” 

“Probably not?” You shrug. “But the paperwork between France and the U.S. is as convoluted as shit.” 

“Point taken. Personally, though, I’d’ve made an exception in his case.” He continues to eye you in the same way, his position unchanged. “So, cutting to the chase. Why are you here, and why is Dirk not?” 

“Dirk isn’t here because he’s a wuss who can’t face his ex, and I’m here because we need your help.”

Sollux snorts. “Like I’ve said a million times, we never dated, we did it to win a bet – which we won the fuck out of, by the way, scored us both five grand because AA and FF are generous.” He sobers after a few moments. “But you being here means you’re going to corrupt my best and brightest.” 

“Yo, you know the drill, darling. I don’t corrupt them.” You don’t smile, though the thought is tempting. “I make them an offer. And I leave the choice to them.”

“You offer them the possibility of infinite creation and expect them to say no,” Sollux corrects, one eyebrow raised. “And why do you need one of my students now, anyway? What happened to the other guy – Eridan, right?”

“Eridan got offed, and again, we need your help because bro got a job offer he can’t refuse.” 

“Ha!” You blink when Sollux snorts. “Fuck that guy, he got what he deserved.” After a few moments, his amusement fades and he says more seriously, “Explain.”

“It’s pretty simple,” you say, and then your voice drops as you say, “If we can pull this job off, Dirk will be able to go home.”

Sollux doesn’t say anything for a while. Then he agrees, “That is an offer he can’t refuse.” 

“So you’ll help us?” 

“Well, I would, if I didn’t already know Dirk is one of the best architects I’ve ever met. He graduated from this school, too, moron.” 

“Wow, call him a moron when he was top of his class over you. Real mature, man.” You snicker along with Sollux. “Look, I wouldn’t be standing here if we didn’t need an architect.”

“Sure, but I don’t know why you’d need one. A person of his caliber outclasses almost everyone at this school – ”

You sigh. Tell him the truth. “Jake won’t let him, Sollux.” It comes out harsher than you intended.

Pause. “God, he’s so fucked up,” Sollux says, not unkindly, and at any rate you know he means it in the best way possible. “Tell him I said to get a grip on reality, and in the meantime, I know someone who’s even better than he ever was.”

You smile, finally, and say triumphantly, “I thought so.”

* * *

Her name’s Roxy Lalonde, and the smile she offers you is both brilliant and devilish, her unusual pink eyes sparkling with mischief. You recognize her immediately, though she doesn’t recognize you. Which makes sense, you suppose – Rose tends to keep her private life under lock and key.

“Dave, this is Roxy Lalonde. Roxy, mister Strider.” She bobs her head in a quick hello and listens intently as Sollux tells her, “Dave here has a job offer for you, if you’re interested.” 

“Early work placement, Professor Captor? How did you know that is exactly what I wanted for Christmas?” 

“Yo, you realize it’s like July, yeah?” you say. 

“Christmas in July, mister Strider! Do not tell me you have not ever heard of it.” At your blank expression, a hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my _god_ , Professor, this man is so uneducated, and you want me to _work_ with him?” 

“He grows on you, Lalonde, trust me.” Sollux’s smile is soft as he regards her, though it fades when he looks over at you. “Be careful, Dave. She has a good head on her shoulders, but she likes to – let loose, shall we say.”

“That’ll work well for us, actually,” you say, tilting your head just so to make the light glint off of your shades. “Thanks, Sollux, I owe you one.”

“Consider it repayment for the favor at the Eiffel Tower.”

You pause, think about it. Then you nod. “I suppose that’s fair.” Then you look over at Roxy. “You mind tagging along with me for a bit?” 

“Not at all, I detect orgo class,” she says, and she happily falls into step next to you as you follow the path to the roof. You know if very well, having been often required to fetch your brother from his quiet refuge, and Sollux calls a farewell after you before returning to his lecture hall. 

On the roof, Roxy pops a sandwich out of her sylladex and takes a bite as you eject a pad and a pen. 

“I love Paris,” she says, looking out over the city. She takes a bite of her food and says, mouth full, “Don’t you?” 

“It’s pretty cool,” you say, and then you nudge her with the pad of paper. She turns to look at it, then at you, chewing vigorously and replacing her sandwich into her sylladex as she takes it from you. “But now I need to test you.”

She swallows, and says, “Generally, you tell the lady before you take her out to dinner.” 

She grins when you snort. “I would love to tell you what’s what, darling,” you reply, “But I need to know that you can actually do it, first.” 

Her eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

“’Cause what my brother and I are planning on doing is kind of, shall we say, shady. In terms of the law.” 

“Oh.” She thinks about this, pen and pad in hand. Then she nods. “Okay, I guess I have done worse things. What do I need to do?”

You don’t ask. You don’t ask, even though you’re curious as hell. “Draw me a maze in two minutes that will take at least one minute to solve.” You don’t need to look at your watch as you say, “Go.”

Exactly two minutes later, where she’d been drawing lines and squares and rectangles, you say, “Stop.” She frowns but hands the pad off to you, and you look at it briefly, look up at her, and draw the solution without looking. Her frown deepens as you hand it back. “Again,” you say sharply, and then you say, “Go.”

The second attempt goes the same way, even though she has a better grasp of what she’s supposed to do. On the third attempt, however, she starts with a circle and starts tracing more circles within, and when you call time and attempt to solve it, you find yourself stuck momentarily in the maze.

“Awesome,” you say, and she grins with the praise. You grin back. “We’ll make an real architect of you yet, darling.” 

* * *

DIRK

“The thing with our brains is simple: the saying that we only use a fraction of our brain is true. But,” you say, wagging a finger before Roxy interrupts, “Only when we sleep. When we’re dreaming.”

“Interesting,” she replies, propping her chin on her head. Dave’s description of her being vividly curious about everything is very accurate. “Example?” 

You think for a few moments, remembering ages ago when Sollux described the very same thing to you. “When you build a building,” you say, sketching the floor plan of your own shitty apartment back in Houston on the pen and notepad, “You think of all aspects, you know, the design of the tiles, the shine of the sink faucet. It’s a conscious thing, but when you let your imagination loose, when you let your mind fly – ” 

“You stumble on it,” Roxy finishes. “You discover it. It is raw inspiration, genuine ideas.” 

“Very true – and that’s exactly what your brain does when you dream. Continuously, I might add.” Roxy looks a little confused, so you go on, “In your dream, you are creating and perceiving continuously, and your mind does this so well you don’t even notice.” You lean back in your chair and give her an enigmatic smile. “Which is how people like me and Dave get paid.”

“What do you do?” she asks, curious.

“We just take over the creating parts.” You point at her with your pencil. “That’s where you come in, actually: you create the dream world, we bring in the subject, and the subject fills it with their subconscious. They don’t even know they’re dreaming.” 

“Is it possible to make it that realistic, though? I mean… to make it seem so real that the person really believes it is reality?” She blinks, and then laughs. “I just used the word ‘real’ like three times.” 

You let her see a quicksilver smile, but move on to the topic. “Dreams seem real while we’re in them, Roxy. It’s only when we wake up that we realize how strange things were.” 

“But – but all of this!” Roxy gestures out to the streets. You’re both sitting at a restaurant in Paris, a little café actually, with people wandering about and a steaming cup of coffee resting in saucers before the two of you. “You cannot fake this. The smells, the sights, the textures, it has to be impossible to be so detailed.”

“It can be this real. You’ve dreamed before; you know what it’s like.” She nods uneasily, and you ask her, “How about this. You know how in dreams, you can’t remember the beginning or the end, right? Just the middle.”

“Right.”

You pause a little bit, and then you say, “So how did we end up here?” 

“That is easy, we came from – ” Pause. Confusion passes onto her face. “We came from – ”

Rumbling begins in the distance, as you ask gently, “How did we get here? Where are we?” 

Realization hits her face like a bolt of lightning. “We are _dreaming_ ,” she realizes, and then stares at you in awe. The rumbling intensifies, and she breaks eye contact and looks around, nervous. 

“Stay calm,” you say, still leaning back in your chair, the epitome of relaxation. “We’re in the warehouse, remember? This is your first lesson in shared dreaming. We talked about this.” 

“I _am_ calm, I am perfectly fine,” Roxy replies, her head whipping around to take in the rapidly deteriorating scene. You can tell the dream is going to collapse, as the rumbling grows louder and explosions start to occur. As the pavement beyond explodes upwards, you cover your head. It’s very noisy now, and things are flying willy-nilly just about everywhere – and Roxy is at a complete loss. “Why are you covering your head, if it is just a dream – ?”

You see her get flung off the chair, and then your eyes are open and you are saying, “Because it’s never _just_ a dream.”

Roxy is breathing hard, laying back in a lounge chair, pink eyes wide, and she glances over at Dave, shakily reaching up to tuck blond hair behind her ears. Your brother raises an eyebrow at her as he leans over the silver case beneath his hands, fingers briefly stilling as he doesn’t look. He may be a forger by trade, but he is also a skilled point man, and at your nod he looks back down and begins prep work for the next immersion. 

“A face full of glass hurts, no?” you ask her, adjusting yourself minutely in your chair. Your voice echoes in the wide, empty space of the abandoned warehouse. “While we are in the dream, pain is real. Everything is real.” She nods listlessly, one hand reaching up to touch her cheek, and you tell Dave, “I think five minutes’ll do it.” 

“Got it.”

“Five minutes? That was only five minutes?” Roxy shakes her head, a little violently, trying to wake herself up. “But we were talking for, like, for a really long time!”

“An hour,” Dave corrects. She looks at him again, and he tells her, “Five minutes in reality is generally about an hour in your mind, darling. You process things faster when you’re asleep.”

“Anyway, five more minutes,” you interrupt, as Roxy’s expression twists into one of morbid fascination. “We’ll see what you manage to stir up in that time.”

Roxy nods uneasily, but leans back into the chair when you do. Dave doesn’t wait for the go-ahead, instead fiddling with the mechanisms a little bit more and then pressing the center button. Immediately afterwards you find yourself back at the same café, sitting at the same table, with the same cup of coffee in front of you. 

“Well done,” you say, observing the area around you with an expert’s eye. “Got the café, the streets, the lampposts – forgot the bookstore and made it into a music shop instead, but I suppose that might be even better, huh.”

“Who are the people?” Roxy asks, knowing now that they aren’t reality. She gets to her feet to walk along the cobblestoned roads, and you’re quick to follow her. “Am I dreaming them up? I do not think I would be able to create and perceive human beings. They would be too complex, right?”

“I would imagine so.” You’d tinkered around with artificial intelligence, and you can say her statement is true – but let her figure that out for herself. “No, you aren’t dreaming them up. They’re projections of my subconscious.” 

She frowns, steps around a car when it honks. You’re close behind. “Your subconscious – but is this not my dream?” 

“Oh, most certainly,” you agree, “But you only dream up the landscapes. The subject, me in this case, fills it with people. In fact, if you were to talk to them, you would literally be talking to my subconscious.” You’re going to stop there, but then remember Dave’s already cued her in on the plan, and so you add, “It’s one way to listen to your subject’s thoughts.” 

“There are more ways?” 

“Sure,” you reply. “You’re the architect, and you can build anything. If you build something secure, like a bank vault, a safe, even a shoebox tucked away, the subject’s subconscious with fill it secrets they want to hide.” 

Her eyes glint pink when she looks back at you, walking down the street with you tagging loosely behind. “Then you break in and steal it, right?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds illegal.”

“It is, highly, unless the government’s paying you.” 

She snorts, and then casts her gaze to the sky. “I suppose you would know.” 

You smirk and say nothing, and she takes that as her cue to change the subject. “So can I just kind of do whatever I want with things here? If I thought about it?” 

As she says this the cityscape before you begins to change, and you watch, eyebrow raised, as Roxy literally folds the city in half, standing serenely still as entire streets and buildings crumple over to cover the blue sky. Buildings adjust as they go so they don’t crush the ones beneath them, which is impressive given she’s new, and then it’s as if you are in the center of a cube of city. Gravity acts independently on each plane, and both of you look up – or down, you suppose – to view those above your heads. 

“Wow,” she breathes, and you’d agree, if you hadn’t already done it yourself. She starts going towards the nearest wall of the cube, probably to see if she could walk on it, and you notice that your subconscious is starting to take note of what’s going on. It takes Roxy a little longer to figure it out, but when she does, she asks, “Why are the people looking at me?”

You remember when Dave had told you about this – he’d gotten into dreamsharing earlier than you, spying it as a profit before Skaia came to dominate the business, and had abandoned his previous work as a conman-for-hire to learn more about it – and skim over most of the details. “It’s because you’re changing things. My subconscious knows that something’s up, that this world isn’t their own.”

“It is making me nervous,” she said, as a blue-eyed lady stared her down as she passed.

“As it should,” you reply. “The more you change things, the sooner these projections will converge on you.” 

She blinks. The two of you have reached a place where the road abruptly shifts ninety degrees, creating a sort of wall, and she tentatively places a foot on it. “Converge?” she asks, as she moves her other foot towards the wall, and then gravity whips her down against it, causing her to smile as you follow. You don’t waste time walking into the new gravity, instead jumping onto the new surface and hurrying after her.

“Yeah. The projections know there’s a foreign force at work, and once they find it, they’ll go in and attack.” 

“Wait,” Roxy says, a little alarmed, and she wheels around to face you, eyes wide. “They are going to attack us?” 

“No, no,” you say hastily, reassuringly, and she breathes a little sigh before back round. You whisper under your breath, “Just you,” as you continue on her heels.

* * *

DAVE

Your phone rings in your sylladex, and, chancing a glance at the timer and determining it would be fine, you flip it out and put it to your ear. “Yo.”

“Hey, Dave!” 

Despite your pride and joy, that is, your poker face, you have to let a small, true smile slip on and stay. “Hey, Egbert. Haven’t heard from you in a while.” 

He laughs, a lovely, rich and full sound. “Might have been a while for you, man, being in dreams and all, but we talked two days ago.” 

“Oh. Shit, yeah, you’re right.” You’ve always had a handle on time, no matter where you are in reality or dreams; you suppose the hangnail on your index finger has been distracting you from keeping constant tabs on the date. “Well, anyway, what’s the occasion?”

“What do you mean? Didn’t Dirk tell you?” Your silence is answer enough, and John says, “Dude, your brother asked me for my help for his thingamajig job. Me being a really awesome point guy who can conveniently forge or extract or whatever else you might need.”

“Humble as always, Egbert.” Huh. Dirk must’ve done this while you were out getting Roxy – though that doesn’t explain how he contacted John in the first place, seeing how he’s a paranoid motherfucker and rarely uses any phone for any purpose. You guess he must’ve used a payphone. “That makes sense, thinking about it. Must’ve forgotten to tell me, that wouldn’t be new.” 

“He wouldn’t tell me any details, though, being the super-secrety guy he is.” Before you even say it John adds, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to tell me over the phone. I’m not that stupid.” 

“That implies you are stupid, Egbert.” 

“Rude. Not all of us can have a sexy voice and a head for numbers like you, Dave.” 

“Hey, not to worry, man, I’ll be sexy enough for the both of us.” 

“Eww, I’ll pass. Dating you was fun and all, but you were a disaster on dates.” 

“Jesus. Way to be understanding of an ace, Egbert, you know you broke my heart in fucking half.” 

“And you got it over it like a week later when you met _her_ , didn’t you?”

“Yeah, okay, maybe,” you say with a full-out grin now, “But to be fair, even you said Rose is the shit.”

“She _is_ the shit. Of course, I don’t know how you deal with her, because she’s scary as hell, but clearly you’ve worked something out.” Pause. “Okay, we got way off-topic.” 

“There was a topic?” 

“Shut up. I was going to tell you that I’m in Quebec right now, so whenever you guys are ready, I can fly down to meet you or you can come up here. Cool?”

“Dude, man, I hate to break it to you, but we’re in the land of _boulangeries_ and fashion right now.”

“You serious?” You don’t respond, and you practically hear the beaming in his voice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Save me a croissant.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise, darling.” 

“Ugh, still using that pet name? You didn’t even call me that when we were a thing, why bother?” 

“It annoys people. Besides, Rose likes it.” 

“To be called ‘darling’?” 

“To annoy people.” John lets out a puff of laughter, and you say, “Talk to you soon, Egbert.” 

“Pfft, yeah, okay. See ya!” The line goes dead, and just as well, because it looks like you have a text.

TT: Care to explain?

“Oh, goddammit, Rose,” you say without venom, speed-dialing and replacing the phone back to your ear. She picks up almost immediately, and you beat her to the punch. “I thought we were over the ‘let me listen in on your conversations like a complete stalker’ phase.”

“It was a complete accident, I promise you,” Rose replies, all false honey and charm.

“Well, accident or not, it’s kind of a problem now,” you say. Your tone, which is still light, has an edge, and she knows to drop the act.

“Very well. Nevertheless, please explain.”

Dirk’s left you in the dark about a lot of things, but you know enough to understand that your brother does indeed have a plan and that you’re just going to have to trust him not to fuck up completely. Still, you’re careful, and you ask her, “You’re positive the phones aren’t bugged, right?”

“Please. Is that an honest question?” You don’t answer, and she sighs. You hear some clicking. “Yes, they are bug-free. I don’t see how it’s that important – ” 

“Bro got an offer to go back to the States if he does inception.”

Rose is silent for a very long time. Then: 

“To whom?” 

“Jane Crocker.” 

“Jane Crocker.” Pause. “Heiress to Betty Crocker Corporation?” 

“Yep.” 

“The poor girl has enough assassination attempts on her already. What could your client possibly get from sharing her dreams?” 

“The client wants us to have her shut down Betty Crocker Corp. by herself, for good.” You can feel Rose’s doubt from here, and you tell her, “Listen, we don’t know either, but I’ve already decided to help Dirk with this, if only for Seb’s sake.”

“No, I understand. I’ve met your brother before, you know.” There’s quiet again, as she mulls things over, and you don’t dare interrupt her as your eyes flick down to the timer. Three minutes, fifty-one seconds left.

She takes you by surprise when she says, a little tentatively, “Perhaps I can be of service to you?”

“Rose,” you say, and then you shake your head and start again, “Do you really want to get involved? I mean, it’s already hard enough for you that you’re engaged to me. If you get into cahoots with us and we’re caught, your name is going to be tarnished for pretty much ever.”

“I’m all right with that,” she says, and you feel warm, smiling softly, when she says, “I will always come to help you or your brother, just as you would always help me or my sister. We’ve agreed to that.”

There’s a brief lull, and then you say, “Well, we do need a chemist.”

“Excellent. I’m on my way.” You laugh, a little ruefully; of course she knows where you are. And then you remember something.

“Hey, Rose, speaking of your little sister.”

“What about her?”

“Turns out she’s got the makings of a really fucking good architect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next installment: Dirk's subconscious gets angry, Roxy gets freaked out, John Egbert comes into the picture, Rose Lalonde is very hard to get to, and Dave does his best to run interference.


	3. paradox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the script of _Inception_ :
> 
> ARTHUR: Paradox. A closed loop like this helps you disguise the boundaries of the dream you've created.  
> ARIADNE: How big do the levels have to be?  
> ARTHUR: Anything from a floor of a building to an entire city. But it has to be complicated enough to hide from the projections.  
> ARIADNE: And the better the maze -  
> ARTHUR: The longer we have until the projections catch us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is hard but I still found time for this.
> 
> I'm kind of impressed with myself, actually.

DIRK

The two of you walk towards a jetty, and Roxy’s stride does not falter at the obstacle. Instead, you watch as a bridge builds up in front of your eyes, and as she walks upon the newly-built steps up while the rest of the structure continues to come into existence. By the time the two of you arrive on the other side, people are crossing the bridge as if it had always been there – as well as and giving Roxy the evil eye.

“Very good,” you say approvingly. She smiles, and you warn her, “But if you keep changing things – ”

You’re interrupted when a man checks Roxy with his shoulder, and as the two of you continue forward, a few more do the same thing – an elbow here, a bump there.

“Mind telling your subconscious to take it easy?” she says. She doesn’t sound irritable, but you can hear the frown in her voice.

“There’s a reason it’s called a _sub_ conscious,” you say, shoulders lifting into a shrug. “I don’t control it.”

She ignores you in favor of raising a hand. Before you is the Seine, though you’re not sure how the jetty could become the larger river, and you watch as stone rises up from the watery depths, transforming into a marvelous creation of architecture as you watch. You admit to yourself it’s impressive, and you follow her onto the bridge as you look around.

“Beautiful,” you say, noting the smooth arches and iron pillars. It is vaguely familiar somehow – and while you’re supposed to take influence from the outside world, this seems a little too similar to something to put you at ease. In fact, you find yourself unintentionally tensing up, and you can’t find it in you to relax, as you ask tersely, “Did you imagine this bridge, Roxy?”

“Um, yeah? I mean, I cross it every day when I go to school, but I imagined it up.”

You take a few deep breaths to keep the panic down, because it's just as you’d feared. “Don’t do that,” you say sharply, more sharply than you’d intended. Roxy stops midstep and turns to you as you tell her, shifting your weight just the tiniest bit, “Don’t recreate areas. If you’re going to draw from something you know, don’t take an entire place. Take small things, like a bench, or a streetlamp.”

“I do not see why it is a problem – ”

“You don’t understand,” you say urgently. People are starting to double-take at her, turning their heads even after they pass; you can see some starting to make their way to the two of you. “If you recreate real places, you’ll forget what’s real. You’ll lose your sense of reality, and you’ll be lost in the dream.”

“That will not happen,” she says confidently - you want to cry, she sounds as foolish and young as you once did - and then she asks, almost accusingly, “Did that happen to you?”

Suddenly, the friendly gleam in her eye that you’ve grown accustomed to become a steely glint. You can only stare at her, willing her to understand. She either doesn’t or refuses to do so, and you find yourself sighing, pinching the bridge of your nose.

People are staring her down now, openly hostile – and that reminds you that you have something to do right now. “This isn’t about me,” you say tersely, grabbing her by the arm and trying to pull her away. She holds fast, her footing secure, her focus entire on you. “Roxy – ”

“That is why you need me to build your dreams?” she asks, and then she jumps when a rough grip claps down on her shoulder, whipping her head around to take a gander at the woman glowering behind her.

 _Shit._ “Hands off,” you hiss, batting it away, but it’s too late. More people are coming, grabbing at her arms, her legs, and even though you push and shove, the crowd easily nudges you out of range. Roxy screams bloody murder the whole time – you can see her wrangling at her sylladex, at the dreamscape, but it’s as if nothing seems to work. You can only watch, helpless, when Jake comes out from the crowd, ancient pistol in hand.

“Dirk,” Roxy says, her voice suddenly quietening, suddenly wavering, suddenly audible in the loud anger of the mass, “Wake me up.”

You don’t respond, not to her. Instead your eyes are locked onto Jake’s green ones, and he merely flashes you a grin as he draws up closer to her. “Jake,” you say warningly. He does not acknowledge his name.

“Wake me up!” Roxy screams, and you close your eyes when Jake shoots her point-blank in the chest –

* * *

“Hey, darling, hey, shhhh, you’re fine. Everything’s okay.” Thank god for Dave’s voice – it’s enough to calm anyone down, especially when he gets out the soothing tone, and Roxy is no exception.

You blink your eyes open a few moments later, feeling infinitely tired, as Roxy asks in a shaking voice, “Why could I not wake up?”

Dave gives her an enigmatic half-smirk, half-smile. You can see it does nothing to ease her nerves. “Hate to break it to you, darling – but the only way to wake up early from inside a dream is to die.”

Roxy blinks uncomprehendingly at him as you pull the tube out of your wrist, a little violently. The timer reads four minutes, five seconds, but you can’t bring yourself to do the mental calculations as to how long you were in before you toss the yellow thing aside. “She’ll need a totem,” you say, getting up and mouthing ‘bathroom’ to your brother.

“A what?” You make sure to pointedly look away when pink eyes turn accusingly on you. “Hey, where are - ”

“A totem. It’s a personal thing – a physical object, I mean.” Dave jerks a thumb behind him as he answers Roxy’s query, effectively cutting her off. “No one should know what it does or what it’s supposed to do – ”

“Get back here! I have beef with you!” Roxy yells at your retreating figure. You push open the bathroom door as she shouts, “Your subconscious is fucking crazy, Dirk! He was a real nice guy, that is for sure!”

Dave’s voice carries even as you stonily turn the tap and splash water from the faucet on your face. His voice is none too gentle. “Met his husband, did you?”

“Wha – he was an actual person?” A marginal pause. “They were _married_?”

“Indeed they were. Now, a totem.” Roxy starts to say something, but your brother cuts her off easily. “You’ll be needing something small – it should fit in the palm of your hand, no bigger than a Rubix cube – that only you know about. Nothing too light, either.”

After you finish up, you turn off the water and pop your metronome out of your sylladex, snapping it on and listening a little desperately. The eight beats march by at a speed that has been ingrained in your mind since _then_ , a hiccup at every third, and it sputters to a stop when you turn it off.

“Like a poker chip?”

“Too light. And, I’m guessing for you, too common.” You step out of the bathroom and lean on the wall to watch your brother interact with her. “You need something more specific – something that has a weight, balance, feel that only _you_ know.”

She doesn’t appear to get it, but she nods, and you are grateful her attention is off of you as she then asks, “What is yours?”

Dave flips it out of his sylladex without hesitation, and then he shows her a small, plastic hourglass filled with red sand on the bottom – the kind you’d get at a dentist’s office. She reaches out to touch it, and Dave quickly moves it out of her reach.

“Ah-ah, darling. No touching. You can’t know what it feels like or does, that’d defeat the purpose.”

“Why?”

“The whole point of a totemn is so that when you look at it,” Dave says, “You know without any doubt that you aren’t in a dream.”

“Well,” Roxy says, frowning. She glances over at you. “I do not need one.”

“Oh?” Dave says, eyebrow rising.

“Yeah,” Roxy says, and her voice rises with each proceeding word, “Because Dirk has some issues that I do not want to deal with, ever!”

With that she practically flings herself out of the chair, and then storms out of the warehouse, footsteps echoing long after she's out of the room. You and your brother watch her go and then shared an unreadable look. At least, his is inscrutable; you have no idea what your face looks like.

“She’ll be back,” you say. Dave nods. “She picked it up faster than anyone else I’ve seen.”

“I thought she might.” You look at him quizzically but he does not elaborate. Instead, he says, “Anyway, hope we're done here, because I’ve got to go pick up a lady in the States – turns out she’s having some trouble getting to this place.”

“Who?” You can’t help the tenseness in your voice. While Dave isn’t a wanted criminal like you, he has made many enemies – and they would be sure to try and catch him while he was there. Plus, with the threat of Skaia over your heads, he might as well be painting a target on his chest and stepping into an archery range.

“Why, my darling fiancée, of course,” Dave says, getting to his feet and stretching.

You can't help the snort. “She’s about as darling as a rosebush.”

“Thus the aptness of her name.” He then answers the question before you can even ask, the dick. “She’s a chemistry major, remember? Just what you needed, last you told me.”

“Doesn’t she live in San Francisco?”

“Yep.”

“Dave,” you say, “Do you remember last time you went there?”

“Of course I do, numbnuts, how could I forget nearly getting my ass nabbed by fucking juggalos of all people? It won’t happen again.”

“Makara is still pissed as hell, you know. Called me last week and strung together the word ‘motherfucker’ and variants six times. In a row.”

“Whatever, man, Skaia’s the main threat now, and we both know I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

He is just as stubborn as you are, but you give it a try nevertheless. “There are plenty of other chemists.”

“Well, this is what you might call a necessary risk,” Dave replies.

“That’s what you said about the apple juice heist last week.”

“Because it _was_ a necessary risk. Do you remember what happened last time I was AJ-deprived? Deep shit, bro. It was the worst.”

“You’re the worst,” you retort, and he sticks his tongue out at you before you both simultaneously sigh. You've long forgotten what it meant to be childish. “I still think it's dumb.”

“Sure,” Dave says, smirking, “But hey, it's worth it. After all, Rose is simply the best there is.”

You can’t find it in you to disagree, because you know he’s right.

* * *

DAVE

“You have a tail,” she says, as soon as you fall into step besides her in the square, where a farmer’s market is currently taking place.

You raise an eyebrow and she tilts her head minutely to her left, where you can see plenty of passerby milling about – and then a man dressed in a fine suit. He looks completely out of place, given that it’s a public park in the middle of the day, and even while you and Rose are dressed a little more nicely than most, both of you know better than to wear something as stifling as a tuxedo on a hot summer day.

“Apparently I do,” you say, your lips hardly moving. Both of you keep uneven paces, and you begin to pull ahead, as if the two of you aren’t together, as you ask softly, “Meet back here in a few?”

“They’d never suspect the criminal to return to the scene of the crime,” Rose agrees, sarcasm apparent in her voice, eyes straight ahead.

“Just work with me, Rosie.”

“Oh, very well.” You roll your eyes when she says, “Meet back right here, mind you. It would be dreadful if you got yourself lost, hm?”

“Love you too, Rose,” you respond, just barely keeping a crooked grin off of your face. You hear your fiancée let out a small huff of laughter before she lengthens her strides towards the man, and you are quick to turn round and walk in the opposite direction, whistling softly to yourself as you go.

You’re not stupid enough to think Skaia wouldn’t send just one person, but you don’t quite dare to draw a blade in public as you easily slip through gaps in the crowd. Even though you can fight in close quarters, you’d prefer not to; swordfighting in general is a bloody business, and the less people involved, the better.

Soon enough you see other suited men and women shoving their way through the masses – rather, no, smoothly cutting their way in, seems they’re standing in a triangular formation – and you duck your head as you continue onward. The whole thing of navigating through the throngs of people reminds you of dancing, something you’d learned for irony points when you were younger, and you snort to yourself as your feet remember waltz steps as you get through the crowd. Strange how the past works.

You finally manage to get to a semi-secluded alleyway, which is when you look up, pop a blade out of your sylladex, and take a running start up the brick wall. The sword helps stabilize as you climb, and you use it both as a hook and a platform to jump off of as you continue upwards. It takes only seconds, and then you vault over the low cement wall to the rough ground of the roof, shoving your sword back into your syllabus as you peer over the edge to see five suited Skaia employees staring up at you.

You give them a two-fingered salute as gravely as you can, and then step up onto the ledge and jump to the opposite roof, taking off at a run. Who ever said being Ezio da Firenze was impossible? Certainly not Bro, and Houston had been a perfect place to practice parkouring.

You’re almost surprised when you hear helicopter rotors in the distance - well, Skaia never did things in halves, and that includes hunting down a runaway employee - and you let yourself drop through a gap between the roofs, climbing down just enough to cling to the windows. This shields from sight from above, but, unfortunately, you are now clearly visible from below, although you know from experience that people generally do not look up. This does not hold out to be true, as a suited woman passes beneath you and then proceeds to attempt to shoot you with a pistol.

“Typical,” you mutter to yourself, and then let go of your hold, taking your sword out again to help you slow your fall against the wall. You keep up just enough speed to tackle her when you are near, and you bring the handle of your sword down on her temple hard enough to bruise before decking it. People are already watching and murmuring, and the last thing you need is to be surrounded by them.

Another Skaia employee skids around the corner, and you slip past him heedlessly. It works to your advantage that few people like Skaia Corp., else they would’ve pointed out your location already to the man, who was now kneeling by his coworker. Still, that man and woman were not alone; soon enough you hear more footsteps behind you.

You keep running. You’ve already engaged one too many; best get as far away as you can.

You didn’t quite memorize the route you’d taken before – being on the roofs and being on the ground are two very different things – but you do know the streets well enough to find your way back to the main square, and you burst into the crowd in such a way that you elicit shrieks of surprise, bolting your way through the crowd with an elegance that comes only when you’re desperate.

Your mind races. You’re going to need to eliminate the three behind you somehow, preferably without knocking them out. You catch a glimpse of Rose chatting it up with the same tuxedo-suit man as before, keeping him distracted, and chalk the number down to two, not counting the man who was looking after the woman you’d injured. There had to be a better way than directly strifing them – this shirt was new, goddammit, the last thing you need is to get bloodstains on it – but clearly talking your way out of it was not an option.

Precisely at this moment your phone buzzes. Something compels you to take it out to peer at the screen, as you hunker down in a corner between a stall and a wall of a building.

GG: not to worry strider! ive got this covered

What.

TG: who the hell is this  
GG: some call me miss jade harley ceo of ectobio inc  
GG: but you like to call me harley if im not mistaken!

_What_.

TG: what the hell are you doing  
GG: protecting an investment of course!!

And just like that, you turn your head, peer around the corner where the Skaia employees should be running. They’re all on their phones, and as you watch, they all hang up, look at each other, shrug, and then just – walk away.

TG: what  
TG: the fuck  
TG: just happened  
GG: ill be talking to you soon mr strider!  
GG: see you in paris :B

* * *

ROSE

Dave is waiting precisely where you'd told him to when you delicately make your way back - the Skaia employee had been charming in an oily, slippery way, and he'd suddenly excused himself without reason a few moments before - and you find him tapping away on his phone, though he puts it away the moment he sees you and stands up to stroll over.

“Apparently, Harley’s been talking to Skaia,” he says when he’s close, and then he slips an arm around your waist. He smells of steel and warmth, two things you’ve become rather partial to. “She’s keeping them off of my ass for now. Those guys’ll probably be the last ones you’ll see for a while.”

“Good to know,” you reply, leaning up to kiss him lightly on the cheek even with the crowds of people milling about around you. There is stubble – you suppose he has been busy these past few days, and that reminds you to get right down to business. “How is my lovely little sister?”

“Doing well, supposedly. Dirk texted me saying she’d come back to the warehouse, so that’s a start.” He grins suddenly. “Funny thing is that she didn’t recognize either of us. You’re not keeping any secrets from your own family, are you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you assure him. He snorts, and you smile and say, “You didn’t have to come out to get me, you know. I am quite capable.”

“I know you are,” he replies, and the way he says it is a telltale sign that he truly believes it. “But, you know, I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“It’s only been five days since the Makara incident, Dave.”

“In real time, yes. Dirk and I spent fourteen days in a dream a few days ago – before the whole Harley bust, I mean. Eridan got off easy that time, the bastard.” He gives you a look-over. “Come to think of it, we used one of your sedatives that time, didn’t we?”

“Indeed,” you respond, which reminds you, “And as a matter of fact, I have to ship a few bottles of it to an address in Seattle. Replenishing their stock.”

“Those the guys who go into a room and snooze for eight hours a day?”

“Yes. My formulas are, naturally, top of the line.”

“Superior to even Skaia’s, mm?”

“Very much so. You’ve seen the job offers they’ve thrown my way.”

He makes a noise of agreement, and then the two of you continue to walk in companionable silence – likely to a taxi, to go off to the airport. You don’t have to tell him how much you’ve missed him, and his mere presence is soothing, for all you consider yourself wildly independent and without any need for human companionship. He understands you in that regard, just as you do him.

He still hasn’t specified on the whole inception business, however. While this irks you, you suppose you can understand that Dirk will give you the details – though from Dave’s rough explanation, the sedative you will have to brew will have to be extensive. Your supplies are already depleted from the shipment to Seattle; you suppose you will simply have to restock when you have the time. You can’t help but wonder how Harley managed to wrangle a deal with Skaia to leave Dave alone, though. And, speaking of –

“Is there any chance of meeting with the miss Harley sometime soon?”

You can feel Dave's shrug as much as you can see it. “As much as we both want you to psychoanalyze the shit out of her, not until we reach Paris. John’s not over there yet, and she wants to meet the team once it’s all assembled.”

“John?”

“You know him – the, uh, the black-haired guy with the glasses and braces even though he’s out of college.”

“Ah. Yes, I remember him." A charming fellow indeed, if you recall correctly, though he'd been completely smashed at the time. "Quite the intellect, behind his cheery happy-go-lucky front.”

Dave lets out a little laugh, turning his head so he can kiss your ear. “You’d know, love.”

“You’re right,” you reply, leaning into him, a small smile decorating your face. “I would.”

* * *

DIRK

You look up at the sound of footsteps, before skimming the passage of the novel you’re reading and tucking it into your sylladex. “You came back,” you said, as she peeks her head around the doorway.

Roxy steps into full view, trying and failing not to look guilty or doubtful. “I tried not to,” she replies.

“Most assuredly,” you say gravely, standing up and gesturing to a seat. She cautiously takes it, curling a strand of her hair as you tell her, “It’s very difficult to go back to normal dreaming after experiencing this.”

She nods, a little dejectedly. “I do not even need to draw, or plan, or even hold a pen,” she says, looking down. “All I need to do – is think. And it is amazing.”

“So it is.” You look over at the silver case Dave had left behind. You know how to use it adequately, but only adequately. Nevertheless, you go over to set it up. “Well, now that you’re here, I suppose it’s time to introduce a colleague of mine.”

“A… colleague?”

“You didn’t think I worked with just Dave, did you?” She gives a sheepish nod, and you tell her, “Typically, I do – but remember, any extractor and point man needs an architect, a forger, and, on some occasions, a chemist. All of whom we’ve contacted.”

“Okay,” she says, eyeing you with some degree of uncertainty. “So where is this other guy, then?”

Pause. “That’s a good question, actually.” You pop your phone out of your sylladex, taking the other seat. “Give me a moment.” She snorts, and you ignore her.

TT: You realize you were supposed to be here an hour ago, yes?

He responds relatively quickly.

GT: yes...  
TT: So where the hell are you?  
GT: um, not there?  
TT: Are you serious, John.  
GT: i am so serious right now, man. i'm not even kidding you right now, because i am literally not there.  
TT: Cut the crap, John. This isn't a joke.  
GT: ok, jeez, calm down! you’d think i exploded the eiffel tower or something.  
GT: i’m on my way, ok? i got sidetracked by some gross pastries dave wanted me to buy.  
TT: Did you get some for me?  
GT: i got some for dave. is your name dave?  
TT: You’re terrible for teasing me like that, John. You know that pastries are my one true weakness.  
GT: suuuuuuuure. anyway, relax, dude, of course i got you some.  
GT: got something for the lady, too. rose’s little sister, huh! small world. do you think she likes chocolate croissants?

“Do you like chocolate croissants?”

“Only if they are not poisoned.”

You pause, but concede the point and say nothing.

TT: She says “only if they’re not poisoned.”  
GT: hehe, i suppose that’s fair.  
GT: i’ll be there in a few, i’m just turning the corner to the place. don’t start a fire while i’m gone!  
TT: Yes, dad.

You’ve barely flipped your phone away when, speak of the devil, he shoulders his way through the door, grinning from ear to ear. “I have arrived,” he announces unnecessarily, and then he throws a package at you and Roxy, “with sustenance.” Unwrapping the parcel reveals a freshly-baked chocolate croissant, which Roxy puts into her sylladex while you chow down, never questioning for a moment how John texted and carried the bag at the same time.

“Thanks,” she says, a little weakly.

John chuckles, and for a moment, you get the image that he's just a dorky college grad with barely any experience. Hard to believe the man's already thirty, but you know for a fact that he is older than you by two, three years, just like your bro. “You really do resemble her, you know – Rose, that is.” Roxy’s eyes widen in surprise as John turns to you. “So I’m supposed to take her in? Show her the ropes?”

“Show her the mazes, actually,” you say around a mouthful of pastry. “Remember that?”

“’Course I do. I was taught by the best, after all.” John winks at you and turns to Roxy, while you stand up, chocolate croissant in hand, and return to the silver mechanism Dave left behind. “So! You ready for some paradoxical architecture?”

There's a brief moment of silence. Then, she says tentatively, “I think so?”

“Good, good. Dirk will get us all set up, then.” John’s smile and cheerfulness are infectious, and you can see that Roxy is beginning to relax. “Now, before we go in, I’d just like to make sure you understand what’s going to happen, hm?”

“I’ve been under before.”

“Excellent, no need for the crash course. That makes my job easier.”

“Who are you, exactly? How do you know my sister?” She sounds a little defensive but mostly curious, raising her voice so she can talk right over him.

John stops, both physically walking and verbally talking, and then says, “Oh, goddammit, I knew I forgot something. Sorry, miss Lalonde!” He goes up to her seated figure and sticks out a hand, which she shakes cautiously. “I’m John Egbert! Old friend of Dave’s, went into dreamsharing with him way back when. I’ve been working with that asshole and his asshole brother ever since they were hired by Skaia.”

“So you work for – ”

“No, no, I do freelance work. I might be good, but I’m not the finest – and Skaia only ever wants the unrivaled top dogs.” He doesn’t sound bitter at all. You know from years of knowing him that he isn’t.

“So,” Roxy says, turning to you, “You were not lying when you said you were the best?”

“I never said that,” you say, holding the tubes and syringes in your hand.

“Dave did.”

“Goddammit,” you hiss, scowling; of course he would. “Screw him too.”

“Better take him out to dinner first,” John chimes. Roxy lets out a startled laugh and you give John a Look over your shades. He grins, unrepentant, and then takes his spot in your seat, offering his wrist when you come over. “I saw an opportunity and took it, Strider. Better deal with it.”

“If Dave were here, he’d be running along with it, so I’d prefer if you got it out of your system right now,” you mutter, and he lets out a _snerk_ sound as you turn over to Roxy. “Ready?” you ask her, a little more harshly than you meant to.

“Yes,” she says, and so you insert the needle into her skin, along with the yellow tube leading to John’s body. Then you go over to the silver case and pause, hand hovering over the button.

“See you both later,” you say, and you let your palm press flat.

* * *

ROXY

John, you’ve noted, is actually a very good architect, with a taste for modern sorts of structures. The building you are in is made almost entirely of clear, polished black and white tiles and glass.

“Walk with me,” he says, offering his arm. You stifle your giggles and take it, a smile on your lips, as he leads you down a wide, expansive floor - a second floor, you think, but you're not sure. “I take it you don’t like Dirk very much, hm?”

“It is not that, it is just…” You trail off, think for a few moments. “It is more like he is just hiding something. Something dangerous.”

“Mm, yeah, that’d be Jake English. Good friend of mine, actually, Dave was thrilled when his little brother got hitched with him.”

You frown, mostly because the middle part is news to you. “Dirk is younger? I thought – ”

“Everyone thinks Dirk is older because he looks so scruffy all the time, hehe. Dave prefers the whole clean-shaven look. He’s pretty self-conscious, actually.” John laughs. It’s a warm sound, like Dave’s voice minus the steel echoing underneath his tone. “Rose is a bad influence in that sense.”

“You never did tell me how you know her,” you say, a little cautiously. You've met people like John before, but interacting with them had always been more stressful than anything. Fortunately, John seems like the type to fill the silence with idle chatter.

“I know her like I know most people – through the Striders. Dave specifically in this case.” At your blank look, he raises his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“I do not know what?”

“That your sister’s engaged, maybe?”

“She’s _what_?” Despite your shocked-indignant tone, you can understand why your sister kept mum; your mother would be furious, especially if the suitor didn’t pass her standards. In that light, you decide to shrug it aside and focus on the more important bit: “With who?”

John gives you a look that says _isn’t it obvious?_ “Um, Dave? Who else?”

“Him?” Oh god. Mother was definitely going to blow a fuse. Probably a literal fuse, actually, since she tended to use the vacuum cleaner extensively when she was upset. “What was she _thinking?”_

John barks out a laugh. You’re at the top of some stairs now, and he leads you down them with a gracefulness you wouldn’t have suspected in his wiry, bulky form. “Don’t let Dave hear you talk like that. He’ll take grave offense and probably go on an ice diet. He’s done that before.”

“Wh - what does dieting have to do with anything?”

“Like I said, he’s a vain dude. Haven’t met anyone else with as genuinely good intentions as his, though.” John stops you at a break in the stairs and gestures left and right. You choose right, and the two of you continue to descend as he adds, “That’s when he met Eridan, now that I think about it. Both were obsessed about keeping their weight down, hehe. Such dorks.”

“Who is Eridan?”

“What do you mean, who’s – ha ha, wow, they’re really keeping you out of the loop. Watch your step,” he adds, turning another sharp right. You peek ahead; it seems the stairs continue downwards in a tight, square spiral. “Eridan Ampora was the Striders’ architect for a pretty long time. Skaia got him the other day, no one’s seen him since.”

“What does that - ”

“You don't want to know. Trust me.” John looks utterly serious when you look over, and you decide not to question it and instead move on.

“So I’m replacing him.” You take the initiative to turn right again. It seems like these stairs are going on forever. How long have you been walking on them?

“Yep. Don’t worry, he was a dick. Plus Dirk seems to like you all right, and I’m pretty sure Dave will dote on you, him being the loving older brother and all.” John’s arm shoots out to stop you from taking a step, and you look down and, for a terrified, breathless second, see that the stairs break off completely to empty space. “Back to topic, though: paradoxical architecture! You noticed how the stairs looked complete from the top, right?”

“I thought they did,” you say, peering over John’s arm to see the floor maybe twenty meters below.

“A closed loop like this helps you keep everyone on their toes in the dream.” He grins, takes your arm and begins to guide you back up the stairs. “These are the Penrose steps, hm? The infinite staircase.”

You puzzle at the structure as you continue up, and soon enough you end up the same place you had first seen the drop – except now it isn’t there.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” John says cheerily. “Just think of it as a maze.”

You frown. “But why would we need a maze?”

John shrugs, a smile on his face, and silently tilts his head over to a secretary rushing up the stairs. The man glances hard at him as he passes before moving on.

“My subconscious seems polite enough,” you say, perhaps a little doubtfully as you see another woman glare daggers at the back of John’s head.

“Just give them time,” John says, as he leads you up the stairs. “All they have to do is navigate the maze, and then they’ll come along and murder me. It’s the same thing every time. Gets kind of old, actually!”

“But that means…” You think about it some more, and then say, “Would that mean that if the maze was a labyrinth, the projections could not find you?”

“They’ll always find you in the end,” John says with an easy smile that makes you shiver. You wonder how long he’s been in the business, as he admits, “But you’re right. The better the maze, the longer you have until they notice.”

“And how big are these mazes? The size of these stairs?” That seems improbable, given the small size of the area. It would be relatively easy for a crowd to shove John off of the balcony. “Or like an entire room, maybe?”

“Could be. Or, if you’re feeling up to it – as large as an entire city.” Could you ever think that fast, that long to make a city that complicated? It was obvious that John could, without any apparent effort, and you’d have to assume Dave and Dirk could do so as well.

Although that reminds you of something, now that you’re thinking of the younger of the Strider brothers…

“Dirk cannot build anymore, can he?”

Pause.

“I don’t know if he can’t. I do know that he won’t.” You’re surprised John answers so easily, without seemingly caring all too much. “From what I understand, he doesn’t think it’s safe for him to know the layout of the place. Least that’s what Dave told me.”

“Why?”

John casts a glance around, then appears to remember halfway that Dirk cannot possibly hear him. Nevertheless, his voice drops lower as he says, “I think it’s Jake, but I honestly don’t know. It’s a topic Dave and I discuss pretty often, actually. Dirk's a pretty secretive guy.”

You blink, twisting this idea in your mind, as you say slowly, “So his ex-husband is making things hard for him or what?”

“Ex-husband? Where the heck did you get ex-husband from?” John shakes his head, and his smile, while present, is small. “No, he’s not his ex. Not at all.”

You frown again – you weren’t expecting the man to be alive. “So they are still married.”

“I guess so, in a sense. Well, actually, no, unless this is a zombie movie or something, which is very much isn’t. Listen – Roxy, right?” You nod, and John says gently, “Jake’s dead. I don’t know where you saw him or what he did, but whoever you did see – that was just Dirk’s projection of him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next installment: Harley meets the crew, Dave makes an ass of himself, Rose makes a sedative that could knock out twenty grown men, Dirk has husband issues, John bonds with Roxy who makes herself a totem, Kanaya Maryam becomes relevant very quickly, Jane Crocker become much less absent that usual, and Jake English remains noticeably absent.


	4. preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the script of _Inception_ :
> 
> ARIADNE: Why can't you go home, Cobb?
> 
> Cobb looks at her, deciding what to say.
> 
> COBB: They think I killed her.  
>  ARIADNE: How did she die? 
> 
> Cobb thinks.
> 
>  _INSERT CUT: Mal, wind BLOWING her hair, smiles at Cobb. Now we see Cobb - SHAKING HIS HEAD, TEARS STREAMING, BEGGING -_
> 
> COBB: Thank you.  
>  ARIADNE: For what?  
>  COBB: Not asking whether I did.

DIRK

TG: rose and I should be there in a couple of minutes   
TG: hows roxy holding up   
TT: She’s fine. John is showing her mazes and paradoxical architecture at the moment.   
TG: cool   
TG: you gonna tell us whats what when we get there   
TT: As soon as they wake up, yes.   
TG: im holding you to that bro

True to his word, your brother arrives at the warehouse with Rose on his arm soon after his final text. The two are impeccably dressed – him in a tailored suit, her in a flattering lavender robe – and Rose is quick to flash a coy smile at you.

“I would very much like to hear how you plan to perform inception, Dirk Strider,” she says. You normally have to look down at people, but Rose’s eyes are mere centimeters below your own; you did not realize she was so tall, and upon closer examination, she is but an inch shorter than Dave. “I would also appreciate it if you would tell me the next time my darling little sister is ever involved with your schemes in the future.”

“Consider it done, miss Lalonde,” you reply blandly. A glance at the timer says twenty-two seconds, and you tell her, “John and Roxy will be waking up shortly.”

Rose tilts her head minutely in your direction in acknowledgment, and then Dave’s arm snakes around her waist. Both of them are wearing identical smirks; you get the feeling they are looking forward to Roxy’s reaction. The twenty-two seconds seem to take a millennium to pass.

But then, a few moments before the timer reaches zero, John suddenly bolts upright, eyes wide, tearing at the tubes at his wrist. “That was as unpleasant as always,” he says with a halfhearted grin, one hand going to rest on his chest, likely to ensure wholeness – and then he sees Dave and Rose and he gives them a warm smile. “Look who finally decided to show up!”

“’Sup.”

Roxy’s eyes open a moment later, and she calmly plucks the needles from her skin, swinging her legs out of the chair so she can stand and stretch. “I should really brush up on fistkind,” she mutters to herself, and then she catches sight of Rose and Dave and freezes in place.

“Afternoon, sister dearest,” Rose says, fuchsia eyes twinkling with mischief. Roxy’s eyes flick from her to your brother, but you let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding with a huge grin spreads across the girl’s face, as she squeals and tackles Rose in a hug – or tries to, as Dave had sidestepped and taken Rose with him.

“Stop it,” Roxy whines, stepping back and leveling a half-accusing, half-pleading glare in Dave’s direction. “I have not seen her in months and you got her all to yourself on the airplane!”

“Sorry, darling,” Dave says with a quicksilver smile, and he obligingly steps away from his fiancée so the two Lalondes can embrace. It’s a very heartfelt moment, you think, and the two are hugging tightly enough to potentially crack some ribs. Never had you and Dave done such a thing, and you both exchange glances, eyebrows rising; it must be a sister thing.

Eventually, John clears his throat, and the two break apart, regarding each other with gentle smiles – and then just as quickly, the smiles fade and they turn towards the group. Game faces, you suppose.

“Well,” John says, and then he turns to you. So does everyone else. “I guess – time for the plan, huh, Dirk?”

You lift your shoulders in a shrug, give a short nod. Dave comes to stand beside you, and Rose and Roxy settle themselves onto the seat the latter had recently vacated. It’s almost like story time, except you’re all adults and what you plan on doing may cost everyone something far worse than their life.

“Inception,” you say. Everyone knows that already, so there is no reaction. “That’s the plan. Jade Harley, CEO of EctoBio Incorporated, wants us to make Jane Crocker shut down Betty Crocker Corp – ” You pause, seeing John’s eyebrows knit together, mouth slightly open as he mutters something to himself, and ask somewhat sardonically, “Interrupting my plans already, Egbert?”

A few moments pass. And then he says, “You realize Jane’s my younger sister, right?”

There is dead silence in the room, so quiet you swear you could literally hear a pin drop.

Dave says, tentatively, “We do now.”

“I mean, I guess a job’s a job,” John says, uncertain, unsure. “And I do owe the two of you a favor, but still. This seems…” He shakes his head, doesn’t speak for a few moments. Decides.

“I could do it if you want me to, but I’d feel so bad afterwards, and I see her at least four times a year already - what if I spilled the beans by accident?”

Rose makes a small noise of agreement, and Dave asks, “How often do you get drunk when you get over there?” At John’s lack of response, Dave looks at you: your call. Wow. You’ve forgotten how much you hated being the leader, but being the good leader you are, you quickly review the facts.

John’s already stated that he would do it if you wanted him to. At the same time, you had no idea Jane Crocker was his little sister, which throws a huge monkey wrench in the operations. You’d done inception yourself, and you know firsthand what it can do to someone; you’d hate to have an individual close to the person see the changes so quickly.

Goddammit. You wish you’d known this sooner, else you wouldn’t have dared cue him into the plan.

“I might have to kill you,” you say, only half-joking, “But you can step out, if you want.”

John looks relieved, and he surprises you by saying, “I can definitely help you get in touch with her and stuff, but I really don’t want to go in the held. So please don’t kill me.”

“Wouldn’t let him touch one little hair on your head, Egbert, not to worry,” Dave says with a half-moon smile that he then directs at you. It is singularly the creepiest expression you’ve ever seen him make in all the years you've known him, and you know full well that he would keep that promise until he was dead.

“This means you need a new point man, I’m guessing?” Rose says, eyebrows raised, and you give a wordless nod. “Well, as it stands, I do think I know someone who could help, if you’d give me a moment.”

“Maryam?” Dave asks. Rose nods, and your brother looks at you, poker face back into place like the disturbing smile had never been there. “She’s a good replacement – and she’s close to here, too, isn’t she?”

“Indeed. A lovely Frenchwoman, to be sure,” Rose says, putting a phone you did not see her take out to her ear. Roxy is cuddling with her sister at this point, resting her head on her shoulder, and Dave goes over to speak quietly with John, leaving you standing on your own. You are so busy observing the interactions around you that you almost jump with Rose speaks. “Kanaya? It’s me, Rose. Perhaps you could spare a few days to help me with something?”

You’re not sure what happens after that, but Kanaya apparently agrees, and just fifteen minutes later a tall, willowy woman with dark skin and darker hair glides into the room. She’s dressed even better than Rose and Dave are, and you whisper out of the corner of your mouth, “Holy bombshell, Batman,” which is echoed with John’s impressed whistle.

“Kanaya, you remember my fiancé, yes?”

The woman regards your brother coolly. He gives her a smart salute in response, and she smiles. Her voice is rich with a French accent. “I see you are wearing the clothes I gifted to you, Dave.”

“Only the best for this bod,” he says, and then, to your surprise, the two fistbump, both giggling like schoolgirls. Dave, per definition, does not giggle, and Kanaya seems far too elegant for such a move – but then, appearances could hardly be used to judge a person’s character.

Rose quickly and efficiently introduces her to everyone else – you, John, Roxy – and then the floor’s yours again, and you start talking.

“The job is inception. We want Jane Crocker to dismantle Betty Crocker Corp. on her own volition, for reasons we don’t know quite yet.” You crack your knuckles, thinking, flicking through the mental pages of your half-hashed plan. Significant pieces of the puzzle are missing – but at least you have finally assembled a workable team. “And before I can say anything else, we need to know what the hell Jade Harley knows about all of this.”

* * *

“So everyone’s here, huh?” Harley claps her hands together, a little more gleeful than you would have expected the CEO of one of the wealthiest, most successful businesses to be. “I’m glad. It seems like there was a lot of hassle getting all of you together!”

“Lies and slander,” Dave says blandly from across the table, where your team is sitting so they might face their client.

Harley gives him a quizzical look. He gives her a blank one back. He and Rose are sitting close, and her hand is tucked neatly in the crook of his elbow – an unusual development when you’d first witnessed it a year back, given both of them generally abhorred human contact.

“Well,” she says after the silence had stretched on for some time, “I see your social skills have yet to improve, mister Strider.”

“On the contrary,” Rose says, with the slightest uplift of her lips. “You might say he’s quite vocal, when he’s so inclined.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Harley says, and then a manila folder pops into her hands, which she hands to you. “Here is the file on the younger Jane Crocker, mister Strider.”

You take it and flip it open, scanning papers and then passing them down the line – first John, then Kanaya, Roxy, Rose, and finally Dave, who, as a forger and therefore manipulator of a person’s mind, has most experience in this sort of thing.

“Question,” you say, and Harley gives you a cheery smile that might’ve fooled you a couple of days before. “What’s your deal with Crocker?”

“Unimportant,” she chirps.

She ignores the narrowing of eyes from your entire side, and Rose writes something down on the legal pad you didn’t notice was resting quietly in her lap. You didn’t realize she was ambidextrous, but you suppose she would’ve worked at it.

“This isn’t just corporation espionage, Harley,” you say, leaning forward on the table, eyebrows raised. “This is inception – ”

“ – which means that we can’t just make things go poof, job done,” Dave says, slipping into the conversation as easy as could be. “This idea we’re planting into Crocker’s mind? It will change her. It might even come to define her.” He leans forward, taps his temple. "This isn’t child’s play. If you want this to work, you have to tell us what you want.” You nod in agreement; that sums things up pretty well.

Harley huffs out a breath, turns to you, says coldly, “You know, people have told me that you didn’t used to be so careful, mister Strider.”

“Maybe you should get some new sources then, miss Harley,” you say just as frostily. She glares at you for a moment, but you can see her visibly, reluctantly concede after just a few moments.

“It’s pretty simple, actually,” Harley says, and then she says, overly-sweet, “I absolutely hate Betty Crocker and everything she stands for.” She doesn’t wait for someone to ask her why, as she then explains, “They have regulators in their pockets, and my company is the last one standing between them and complete dominance over the energy market. Do you know what that means?”

“Monopoly,” Roxy says primly, and then she frowns and says, “But are they not a baked goods company – ?”

Harley shakes her head, so violently you think her glasses might fly off. “That’s what they like to say. Maybe if everyone wasn’t so complacent and all right with them gaining more and more power, people would notice Betty Crocker is also the head of Skaia Corp.”

This is news to you, and you and Dave exchange glances as Harley continues, steel blading her words, “If no one stops them, they’ll be controlling half of the world’s energy in just a month.”

“And if they do that, and have regulators bribed, then they could – oh, wow.” John swivels in his chair to stare at you, unnervingly bright blue eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them. “They could blackmail entire governments. Bribe anyone.”

“They could probably dictate any policy ever made,” Kanaya notes, her expression pinched.

“They’ll be an entire new superpower,” Rose says gravely, and Dave shifts uneasily besides her. “This is dire indeed. I suppose the madame Crocker has been planning this moment for her entire life.”

Harley rubs the bridge of her nose, temporarily dislodging her glasses. “I don’t know the specific details, but it’s well-known that she’s on her deathbed. Jane is set to inherit, and if we don’t do anything soon, she’ll wreak havoc on the world.”

“As her brother, I have to take offense to that,” John says. “I don’t think she would quote wreak havoc unquote on the world. She’s too gentle and nice for that.”

“I would not be so sure,” Kanaya says. John glances at her, eyebrows raised, daring her to challenge him, and she stares back at him evenly. “Have you read the news surrounding your sister recently?” she asks mildly. “It fails to be anything close to flattering, I’m afraid. She is, first and foremost, a businesswoman, after all. Madame Crocker raised her quite well – young Jane is already acting as head, though her caretaker is slowly dying next to her.”

You’re impressed that John doesn’t say anything, though his expression says he would gladly kill the woman sitting next to him. You resolve to try to make it up to him later, as Dave butts into the conversation again.

“This is great and all, but this isn’t going to work unless we get something I can use,” your brother says. He taps the legal pad in Rose’s lap, and she obligingly gives it to him, along with her pen. “Harley, do you know the relationship between Jane and Betty Crocker?”

“Only rumors. Whispers. But it isn’t good.”

Dave frowns, even as he scribbles it down and passes the pad back to Rose. “We need better than rumors.” He reaches for the manila folder, flips through it, and finally pulls out a picture of a young woman that looks around the same age as you. “Think you can get me in the same room with this girl here? Feferi Peixes – Betty Crocker’s faithful servant, Jane Crocker’s primary bodyguard.”

Harley smiles that shark-like smile, the one she pulls out whenever she’s planning on fucking someone’s shit up. “I’ll just need to get some references, but you’ll get in, no worries.”

Dave grins slowly, and then he positively purrs. “References are something of a specialty of mine, darling.”

* * *

“For the moment, I’ll be using the basic formula for Somnacin, though I do require proper supplies.” Rose lets out a long, thoughtful hum, and then turns to you. “You mentioned a sedative earlier today. How deep into the held are we going?”

“Three levels,” you say without looking up from your phone.

“Three?” You don’t answer, and she says, “A dream within a dream within a dream. Mm. That will require a very powerful sedative, if it’s even possible.”

“It’s possible. Trust me.” You pause, and then say, “Unless you can’t do it?”

Her smile drops, and her voice becomes stony. “I’d trust Dave over you any day, Dirk – you are lucky he said the same thing.” Ouch. You flick a glance over to her, and she’s eyeing you without malice, but without kindness, too. “Give me the funds, and I will be done with the proper mixture in a few days.”

You nod, a little jerkily, and pop a roll of cash out of your sylladex, tossing it to her. She doesn't even bother catching it, tucking it into her sylladex as soon as it's close enough, and then she pivots on her heel and click-clacks towards the door.

* * *

DAVE

“But Terezi, this is highly irregular – ”

“Nonsense, Miss Crocker! A visit from another company is always valued, wouldn’t you say?” The woman turns to face you and Harley, an enormous grin on her face. “Miss Harley and mister Strider, was it? Please, do come in!”

Jane Crocker is slighter than you’d thought she’d be, when you cautiously step into the foyer after Harley – a young woman of twenty-nine, with curls of black hair and almond-shaped cyan eyes, dressed smartly in professional attire. She looks much more Chinese than John does, but you can definitely see the resemblance between them, now that you’re looking for it.

Speaking of John, he’s already chilling out in the room, seated in an armchair with Jane standing across from him. You give him a nod, and he waves back to you, causing Jane’s eyebrows to knit together.

“Do you know these people, John?”

Her brother grins, easy and free. “I know Dave, remember? We go way back. You’ve met him before.” His smile fades, and his voice is a little hard as he says, “I didn’t realize he was working for EctoBio Inc., though.”

“Just takin’ jobs where I can get them, Egbert,” you say, playing along with the ploy. John exchanges a look with Jane, and then you flick your eyes over to the girl standing in the corner: Feferi Peixes. She can’t see that you’re staring at her through your shades, and you carefully examine her. She stands tall and proud, long black hair tied back into a fluffy ponytail, and her sharp tyrian purple eyes survey you and Harley carefully.

Terezi Pyrope, who you soon learn is Jane’s legal advisor, is about as dangerous as a bureaucratic shark. You make sure to stay out of the way while Jane, Harley and she talk, making yourself at home near John and making small-talk, watching Feferi out of the corner of your eye the entire time. On occasion Jane calls her close for advice, and you listen and watch carefully to hear how she talks, what gestures she makes, how she tends to act.

By the time you and Harley are leaving, you’ve mapped out what she’s like, and Harley waits until you are both out of the building and in her private car before turning eyes on you. “Well?” she asks.

You let a small smirk curl your lip. “She’s very excitable – makes a lot of wild gestures and exclamations.”

“Is that bad?”

“The opposite, actually. Her mannerisms are so optimistic it’s almost sickening, which will make it easier for me to fake. All I have to do is go all-out.”

Harley grins. “Good to hear.”

And though you would never tell your bro, as the two of you high-five with matching grins, you get the feeling Harley is actually pretty okay as a person.

* * *

DIRK

“Yo.”

“Hey, Bro.”

There’s a pause on the line. Then he says, “You know, Dirk, I seem to recall you had a certain aversion to phones.”

“Just let me talk to Seb.” You almost hate yourself for bringing out the pleading tone – but not quite – as you say plaintively, “Please.”

Your older brother – technically your father, but both you and Dave were ‘happy accidents’ in his youth and he’s always been a little off in some ways – lets out a prolonged sigh, and then you hear him call your son’s name. A few moments pass, hurried footsteps echo in the static, and then your son says breathlessly, “Dad. Hi.”

“Hey, kid.”

“Was it you that sent that CRT?” You don’t even have to say the affirmative, as he continues a moment later, “I don’t know how you got your hands on it, but thanks. It’s awesome.”

“You’ll have to thank your uncle for that. He has a lot of references.”

“Cathode-ray tube technology is almost thirty years old, dad. It’s practically impossible to find a functional one these days.”

“Dave has the tendency to perform wonders when he feels like it.”

“Like you?”

You laugh, a little sadly, and say, “I wish, kiddo. How’s school going?”

“Dad, it’s July. I don't have to start online courses until late August.”

Shit. It’s moments like these where you remember how detached you’ve become from your son, even though it’s hardly been two months.

“Sorry, Seb,” you say, and you know that even though he’s so young, he knows what you mean.

“S’okay.” Pause, and then he changes the subject. “I’ve been meaning to ask - uncle Dave was going to visit a few days ago, but then he never showed up. Is something going on?”

“Ha! You could definitely say that. I got a job offer that I need his help with.”

“What kind of job?”

“One that involves dreamsharing.”

“I know that, it’s your profession. Jeez, dad.” You let out a huff of laughter at his contemptuous tone. “It’s not for Skaia, is it?”

“Uh. No, it’s definitely not.” Seb does not have any idea what Skaia does, in terms of its retirement and failure policy, and you fully intend to keep it that way. “No, some rich CEO hired me to do the usual thing. It’s going to take a lot to pull it off.”

“You mean, stealing things?”

“Is that was Bro calls it?” Seb doesn’t say anything, and you say, “I’m not extracting anything this time, no. I’m doing something completely different, actually.”

“But then why do you need a forger like uncle Dave?”

You have to smile at that. _Observant little shit._ “It’s complicated, kid. Honestly, I don’t understand completely myself – but the client does, and that’s all that matters in the end, in this line of work.”

“If you say – hey!” You hear some sort of tussle on the other end, and Seb yelling, “I wasn’t done talking to him, grandpa!”

“It’s for his own safety, kiddo,” you hear Bro’s deeper voice say, and then he’s speaking into the mouthpiece. “Listen, not sure if you know this, but there’s almost a guarantee this line is bugged. Next time, call a different number. Ask your brother about it.”

You bite back an immediate snarl to put your son back on the line, and instead say neutrally, “Fine. Tell Seb I said goodbye.”

“Obviously.” Pause. Then, almost hesitantly, “Hey, whatever is going on over there – I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You sigh. Tell him the truth. “So do I.”

* * *

JOHN

“Made your totem, did you?”

Roxy jumps and looks up at the sound of your voice, only to relax after seeing its source. “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me there.” She returns her attention to the small piece in front of her. “And I am not quite done yet.”

“What is it?”

She takes a few more minutes to drill it with something, and then she holds it up for you to see. It’s a bottle cap, from what you can tell – a little thicker and clearly heavier than a normal one, but a bottle cap all the same.

You smile and reach out with a hand, saying, “Let me see – ”

She snaps it back into her hands with a smile, and you laugh and say, “You’re learning.”

“Slowly, but yes, I am.” She eyes you curiously. “I did not think you would be back so soon.”

“There are advantages to being related to the heiress of the Batterwitch,” you reply with a crooked grin. “One such advantage is private jets when you need them.”

“The what?”

You stop, realize your mistake, feel your face flush. “Oh, uh. Batterwitch. It’s what I call Betty Crocker, for – reasons.”

She nods, probably knowing it’s a topic she should leave alone, and then she tucks her totem into her sylladex as she stands and stretches. You watch her and see Rose’s movements; the two are very much alike, even if their personalities are far different.

“I have been meaning to ask,” she says tentatively, and you snap your attention back to her words because you definitely were not checking her out, nope. “If Jane is with Betty Crocker, why are you not?”

“Ah.” Yep. You were expecting this to come up at some point, but Dirk is too polite to bring it up, Dave can’t talk about it in normal conversation without being supremely awkward, Rose probably already knows the answer, Harley has her guesses, and Kanaya quite literally does not care. You guess it’s more surprising that Roxy took so long in asking. “It’s not a very interesting story.”

“Well, I have time to kill,” she says, and she ejects an honest-to-goodness chair from her sylladex, which she offers to you. You take it with no small trace of amusement, and she flashes you a shy smile in return as she takes her own seat. “So, uh. If you want to tell it, I mean, I am all ears.”

“Fair enough,” you laugh, and then tell her, sitting backwards on your chair, arms resting on the wood, “My dad raised me and Jane when we were little. It was already known that one of us would inherit the business – least that’s what grandmother would always say. Grandmother being Betty Crocker, of course,” you add, upon Roxy’s look of confusion. “I wasn’t interested in the business, hated baking and cakes actually, but Jane was, and so around thirteen Grandma started to groom her into a worthy heiress.”

“From what the Strider brothers tell me, Betty Crocker is not exactly the friendliest person ever, though,” Roxy says, eyebrows furrowing, pink eyes blinking. “Was she not angry that you were not keen on it?”

“Yeah, she was,” you reply, and then you chuckle and say fondly, “She sent a bunch of assassins after me when I was sixteen, you know, to keep me on my toes. The first time Dad fended them off and explained what was happening, I knew she wasn’t happy. Jane was horrified, but going against Grandma wasn’t the best course of action in any situation.”

“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” You raise an eyebrow, and she lets out a bewildered laugh. “Your own family sending people after to you to kill you?”

All amusement drains from your face, from your chest, and Roxy immediately backs off as you sigh and look at the ground. “Yeah.”

She bites her lip ( _okay that’s adorable holy shit_ ) and then says quietly, “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” you reply, giving her a small smile, and then you continue the story. “This went on until I left for university, then grad school – which was where I met Dave, actually, and first got into dreamsharing.” You don’t mention the two-year relationship you had with him, and then you remember something else and your smile fades. “That’s also around the time my dad died unexpectedly.”

“From what?”

“The doctors said it was heart failure.”

Roxy peers more closely at you. Says nothing.

“What?”

“The doctors said,” she echoes.

“They did,” you agree. When you don’t say anything else on the matter, she knows exactly what you mean.

“Anyway, I was twenty-five at the time, almost out of grad school, and Jane twenty-two – still in college, still not old enough to live by herself, apparently. So, naturally, Grandma took her in and left me to the vultures.” You can taste the bitterness on your tongue. “I’m glad she left me alone, but at the same time, I let her sink her claws into Janey. And now…”

“Now you are performing inception on her,” Roxy finishes. You nod.

“I mean, it’s a great way to get back at Grandma – have her own beloved heiress dismantle the empire on her own volition. How that’s for sweet revenge?” You laugh, but only briefly. “But at the same time, what will happen to my sister?” You sigh again, hunker down in the chair. “I can’t do it myself, but I can’t stop Harley and the others from doing it.” You pause, admit, “Even if I could, I don’t know if I would, because it’s for the best.”

Roxy doesn’t anything for a few moments, instead merely watching you. When she does speak, she says, “How long ago was this?”

“Huh? Oh, uh. Five years ago, isn’t it?” You laugh, a sad sound even to your ears, and then stop just as suddenly. “Oh, fuck, I need to go visit Dad’s grave soon, I completely forgot.”

A beat of silence. Then: “I am sorry,” Roxy says quietly. Her eyes are down, ankles crossed, hands resting in her lap. “I did not mean to press you about something that recent.”

“Pshh. Like I said before, it’s fine, chill out.” You flap a hand. “It’s not ‘recent’, it’s been a number of years. Eventually you get over these things.”

The look she gives you makes you feel as though she’s peering into your soul, and you know that you aren’t fooling her. But you don’t say a word, instead giving her a small, miserable smile that she can’t quite bring herself to return.

* * *

ROSE

“Really, it is a most elegant solution to keeping track of reality.” Kanaya eyes the miniature globe in her hand for a few moments, and then it disappears into her sylladex and she focuses her attention you. “Your invention, perhaps?”

“Not quite, though I’m flattered you think so,” you reply with a small smile. “The original idea came from Dirk’s husband.”

Kanaya’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Jake English, you say?” She places a perfectly-manicured finger on her chin. “Curious. Rumor says he is a bit on the daft side.”

“Everyone is entitled to their own opinions,” you say neutrally. Jake was never stupid; you know that much from even your short interaction with him. He may not have the cleverness and immediate witticisms associated with intelligence, but behind everything, there was a solid sense of understanding, of sense, that you have seen very few people with. “He has the ability to cut right through a matter – to find the heart of the problem, and then execute a solution.”

“I am afraid I do not quite understand.”

You put your fingers together, let them form a sort of chapel. “Think of it this way, Kanaya. A person like Dirk will look at a problem by first examining each and every aspect – observing possible consequences, possible obstacles, before even beginning the search for a solution. This can lead to an over-extensive process that does little to actually aid him in his cause.”

“In what ways?”

“It’s as if you look at an algebra problem, see all of its details and process what information it gives you – but you then find that you are completely dumbfounded as to how to proceed.” This seemingly registers somewhere in Kanaya’s mind, and she nods as you tell her, “Jake had intuition – flashes of insight that would provide him with an excruciatingly simple yet devastatingly effective solution to a problem. They were uncommon, but when they came, they were always flawless.”

“Your fiancé told me he died.”

You nod gravely. “He did. I know very few details, which is for the best, I suppose. But,” you say, before Kanaya can speak again, “I do know that Dirk cannot return to the States because of it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the authorities are convinced that he killed him.”

Kanaya tilts her head, turning this piece of information over in her mind. Then she says, “How did he die?”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. When you do, you utter softly, “I’m sure if Dirk were here, he would thank you.”

“What for?”

You give her a small, enigmatic smile. “For not asking whether he did.”

* * *

DAVE

“What are you doing?”

Your voice startles him into jumping, and he looks up, eyes wide behind his shades, as you lean against the doorframe.

“Dave,” he says, visibly deflating in relief, and then he goes back to the silver mechanism.

“Didn’t answer the question, bro,” you say, shoving your hands in your pockets, lest you start wringing your fingers like a total nerd.

“I’m – testing.” You can almost see him mentally flail around, grasping at straws for a suitable lie, but all he ends up with is total shit that you could smell from a mile off. “Things.”

You snort, let the contempt emanate off of you in waves. Dirk levels an even stare at you for a few moments, but then looks back down and continues messing around with the silver case beneath his hands.

“Roxy’s been telling me about the architectural layout she’s thinking of using for each level,” you say, in an effort to change the subject when he clearly isn’t inclined to speak. “The first one’s a hospital; she’s hoping she can get Jane to bring the Batterwitch into an ambulance – ”

“Don’t tell me,” he interrupts, leaning back from his handiwork. The timer is set for ten minutes – you can just barely see the glowing numbers when you take a few steps into the room. “The last thing anyone needs is for someone other than the dreamer to bring their subconscious in.”

“You mean in case you bring Jake in, right.” Dirk doesn’t freeze, per say, but there is a slight hiccup in his otherwise smooth movements that tell you that you hit the nail on the head. He doesn't glance up when you say, a little harshly, “Look, no one else knows that why you don’t build anymore except me, but they have a right to know that your subconscious could sabotage the whole operation, Dirk.”

“I’m working on it.”

“By doing what, going into your mind to create universes that don’t exist?” He sends you a glare that could have peeled paint, and you give him a steely one back. “If you know the layout, then so will he – that’s the real issue here, and it can't be fixed that easily.”

“Dave,” he says, and he sounds infinitely tired. You honestly could not care less, but out of your respect for his skills, for the younger brother you are still proud of despite everything that has happened to him, you don’t say anything. He's been through enough; it's the least you can do. “All I care about is getting back to Seb. That’s literally it. I don’t care if you’re going to help me not; I’ll just find someone else.”

All anger drains from you, and you find your shoulders visibly slumping a little. He doesn’t see the motion, but he hears the gentle sadness in your voice as you say softly, “God, Dirk, you are so screwed up.”

His hand comes to rest on his forehead, and then he pushes his anime shades up and looks you in the eye. Clementine irises blare out at you – and underneath, deep shadows seemingly inked into his skin. You raise your own aviators up, meet and hold his gaze. Prolonged eye contact has the intimacy of a hug in Strider books, and exactly ten seconds pass before both of you simultaneously lift your hands and push your sunglasses over your eyes once more.

That long period of eye contact says everything that needs to be said: that you will stand behind him, no matter what happens, and that he would do the same for you without hesitation.

* * *

DIRK

You know, intuitively, that it’s all just a dream, and this is solidified by the lack of people sounds - of cars, walking, footsteps, idle chatter. But you also know that it feels so real, sounds and smells and sights and textures, that your mind is having a hard time coming to terms with it.

Your head rests on something hard, something metal you think; the wind stirs the soft hairs by your ears. The sunlight glows softly on your eyelids. You hear a faint whisper on the breeze, strain your ears to open without opening your eyes. It comes to you, softly at first, and then almost blaring in your ears as your headrest rumbles, as a loud grinding noise fills your eardrums.

_You’re waiting for a train - a train that will take you far away._

_You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can’t know for sure._

_Yet it doesn’t matter…_

Another voice, a voice you haven’t heard in a year, in months, whispers, “Because you’ll always be together,” and then there is a crushing pain in your skull and your eyes open, your breath escaping your chest in a frenzied gasp.

Above you is a ceiling, a white metallic ceiling with triangular support and fluorescent lights glaring down at you. Light streams in from high windows, and you take a moment to close your eyes and suck in a breath.

“Sharp, no?”

Rose Lalonde regards you coolly as you slowly sit up, gently tugging needles and tubes out of your wrist.

“Very.” You give her a nod, hiding shakiness behind an expert’s mask. “I’m impressed.”

“As I expected.” She gracefully gets to her feet, glances behind her where Dave is running a polishing cloth over his sword, for lack of better objective. “That was a weaker version of what we will be using, but I assure you the sedative will function for our needs.”

“Great. Thanks, Rose.”

She sends you a veiled smile, and then moves off to where her fiancé is waiting. You don’t stick around to watch the two – honestly, you’re not sure what you were expecting when you first heard the news that your bro had gotten engaged, given Dave is asexual, but now you think you understand, after watching Rose for a while. You shake your head slightly and make your way to the bathroom.

You splash water on your face when you get there, letting your mask slip somewhat under the cover of water. Your breathing accelerates as you turn off the tap and stare at yourself in the mirror, shoving your shades into your hair. Regarding you is the face of a desperate man, orange eyes glowing with exhaustion, lines grooving in his skin as he rubs his forehead.

The metronome is already on when you flick it out of your sylladex, ticking steadily at eighty beats a minute with the jump at every third. It might run out of battery soon, but that doesn’t concern you at the moment - you breath a sigh of relief when it dies with its usual sputtering coughs, and you put it away just as you hear a voice ask from the entrance, “Are you all right, mister Strider?”

Shades down, poker face on. You turn towards the speaker – Kanaya Maryam, arms held loosely at her sides, head tilted, eyebrows raised, mouth open just the slightest, the picture of an innocent inquirer.

“I’m fine,” you say, and then you brush past her, returning to the main room of the warehouse.

You ignore the piercing look she gives your retreating figure, and try not to think of the dream of reality you had just lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next installment: everyone gets on a plane. Except Terezi, because she isn't cool enough or something.


	5. layer one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the script of _Inception_ :
> 
> Inside the sedan, Ariadne watches the train passing -
> 
> ARIADNE  
> This wasn't in the design -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the belated update, you know how school is, so on and so forth.

DAVE

“The whole premise of this job is simple. The mark is Jane Crocker, and we need her to think exactly this: _I will split my grandmother’s empire_.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to go down easy.”

You fix him with a stony stare. “Don’t be a dumbass, bro.”

“Don’t be an asshole, bro.”

You flip Dirk the bird and say, “You out of everyone knows it’s fucking complicated, especially because she’d never think of that on her own volition. Since we’re going in three layers in, though, we can easily plant it really far down into her subconscious.”

“For the record,” Rose says, ever the voice of reason, “I still have my doubts about the venture. Even with as powerful a sedative as we’ll be using, it seems more than a little farfetched.”

“Dearest, lovely, wonderful Rose,” you reply, glancing at her with eyebrows raised, “Just take our word for it and roll with it, ‘k?” She rolls her eyes but nods, and you look back towards the team at large. “Anyway, the most important thing to remember is that people are swayed by pathos more than anything else, so we need to fuck around with her heartstrings or some shit.”

“For which you have a plan, I assume,” Kanaya comments, a little dryly.

“Naturally, darling.”

“What would you even think of using?” John asks. “I mean, it’s already well-known that Jane isn’t exactly fond of the madame at any given time, but she still loves her in some way, if that makes sense.” You nod – sounds a lot like your relationship with Bro, though Dirk gets along with him much better than you – and John points out, “It’s not as easy as just planting the idea of screwing the old hag over.”

“One, good point. Two, stupid idea.” John purses his lips as you go on, “Positive emotion works like a charm almost every single time, so the whole negative thing you mentioned there is out of the picture.” You jerk a thumb at one of the female blondes in the room. “Roxy thought of the actual premise to use.”

“It is kind of dumb, but Dave thinks it might work,” Roxy says, a little hesitantly, and with your encouraging nod she continues, “But, like, what if we convinced Jane that her grandmother wanted her to create for herself? I have read up on her and she really likes baking – from scratch, not from mixes like the ones her grandmother makes.”

“That was her favorite thing about Dad,” John says, a little wistfully. “They used to bake together all the time. Drove me batshit insane, now I can’t stand the taste of cakes.”

“Good,” you say, making a mental note of what he’d said. Cakes, huh. “Perfect, actually. Try this: _I will split my grandmother’s empire because she wants me to find my own way_. In baking.”

“Might work,” Dirk says in a voice that says he thinks it probably will. Then you blink when he adds, “We’ll need something more to use, though.”

“Such as?”

“A memento,” he says. “When I – did inception, I used something that was very close to the target’s heart.” You wonder how he feels, talking about Jake as impersonally as he is. “I planted it – the doubt – in their most secure place, and that was all. I was done.”

He’d never told you the details, and all of this was new. You store it away in your mind to analyze later. “Fair enough. John?”

“I can’t think of anything right now,” John says with a shake of his head. “I mean, maybe a picture of the first cake she made? But that doesn’t relate to Grandmother, just to Dad.”

“Cake mixes?” Roxy suggests.

“An old recipe, perhaps,” Rose muses.

“Her first cooking utensil,” Harley pipes up. You’d almost forgotten she was there, and you are internally grateful that at the very at least she knows when to keep her mouth shut.

You continue to stare at John, as does your brother. He doesn’t seem to notice, as he taps his chin, eyes shifting left to right and back as he thinks, mouthing words to himself as the others continue to throw out suggestions – but it’s only when Rose says, “An item the madame gifted to her?” that John perks up.

“That’s it!” he exclaims. Everyone stops to look, as he explains, “Jane had a stuffed rabbit, before she lost if somewhere. It used to be mine – the old hag gave it to me when I was really young, before Dad took us away. Grandmother had me send it to her when Jane was born, and then she fixed it up and gave it to her.”

“What did it look like?”

John pops a photo album out of his sylladex. You want to ask why he carries it around, but you don’t, as he pages through and then holds up one particular image. You carve it into your mind: a ragged brown thing, with beady black eyes and an impish smile on its face, covered here and there with dark stains, and then you nod and he puts it away as you turn to the rest of the group.

“Thanks, Rose, John,” you say, and your fiancée gives a nod while John grins cheerfully as you say, “Well, that’s the groundwork, bro. Anything else you want to add?”

“Nah. Well, except that we need to practice as much as possible.” He nods at Roxy, gesturing to the empty expanse of the hotel foyer around them with a slight motion of his hand, and tells her, “Nice lobby, by the way.”

* * *

ROXY

The following day John gets a call, and he holds up a hand for silence as he answers. Everyone waits tensely as he listens to the voice on the phone. From here, you can hear that it’s a woman – and you don’t have to guess to know who it is.

“Okay. I’ll get on the first flight I can.” Pause, as John patiently waits through Jane’s sobbing outburst. “It’ll be just fine, sis, don’t worry. Listen, I’ll fly back out to New York and then we can go together, all right?”

He covers the mouthpiece and whispers, “Harley, think you can get a plan from Paris to New York City?” Harley sends him that shark-grin that he returns, as he refocuses his attention to his phone. “Shh, shh, it’s all right, Jane. Just sit tight, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” A beat of silence. “Love you too, sis. Bye.”

It’s only when the call is ended and the iPhone is safely in his sylladex that John lets out a whoop. He even punches the air a little bit, and you find it a little funny that he takes such obvious pleasure in the death of his grandmother.

“Not to rain on the parade, but even if we meet her there, I doubt we’ll have enough time,” Dirk says after a few moments of this. “We need at least ten hours.”

“We could do it at night, get a flight booked a day before John,” Dave suggests wanly, only to grimace when John shakes his head. “Don’t tell me she plans on staying awake waiting for you. Isn’t it nine hours behind there, plus the twenty-four hours?”

“Jane’s stubborn,” John says, and that is that.

“Where is the funeral?” Kanaya asks.

“Sydney,” John answers, smile fading. “The old hag always did like the ocean – said the amount of creatures in it that could kill you was worth more than anything she could ever make.”

“That’s… odd,” Kanaya responds, eyebrows furrowing.

“Although that is one problem solved,” Rose says smoothly. A glance over reveals your sister tapping away on her phone. “The flight from New York City to Sydney is twelve hours – one of the longest flights in the world.” She gives Dirk a seemingly-neutral look but not really that you recognize, having been at the brunt of it for many years. “Will that suffice?”

“Yep.” From the way Dirk’s eyebrow quirks, you can tell he doesn’t miss her contempt either.

“How long do we have?” Dave asks. For once he isn’t attached to Rose – instead he’s standing next to his brother. The two of them have their phones out and are texting so quickly their fingers are a blur, so you can only assume they are talking to each other, though they seem to be following the verbal conversation just fine. “Until the funeral, I mean.”

“It’s on Thursday.” John’s smile is bitter, and he sneaks a glance at you, briefly, as if he might say something – but he doesn’t, and you only see his bright blue irises for an instant before they’re gone.

You can feel another pair of eyes piercing you and turn your head minutely to see Rose staring at you, eyebrow raised. You fight down the blush and give her a slight shake of your head, to which she smirks. She also looks away, which is more relieving than anything else.

“We don’t have much time, then,” Harley says, busily tapping away on her phone, and with a start you realize you’re the only one who isn’t currently using technology. Even Kanaya is looking at something on her screen, though you have no idea what that might be and you don’t have time to wonder as Harley says, “There we go. We’ll have to use a 747, because the first-class cabin is in the nose and no one else can walk in.”

“What about the flight attendant?” Both Strider brothers say it at the same time, the timbres of their voices surprisingly dissimilar.

“I’ll buy them out,” Harley says confidently.

“Jane has her own private jet,” John points out.

“And it would be a tragedy if there were some maintenance problems,” Harley says, smoothing over the issue by saying with a grin, “You’d be amazed at what money can do, mister Egbert.”

“Huzzah,” Dirk says, tone disinterested, and you look over and note that both Striders have put their phones away. “Let’s get moving, then, we don’t have much time. Everyone know what’s going down?” No one says anything, and he says flatly, “Too bad, we’re going over it just in case. John, you’re point man in the plane cabin, then Rose in the first layer, and then Kanaya in the second. Roxy, you know the layouts?”

“Crystal clear!” you chirp.

Dirk sends you a small smile that you barely detect before going on, “And just so everyone’s aware, Harley is coming with us.” There are exclamations of surprise all around the room – from everyone but Dave, that is, and you have a niggling suspicion that’s what all the texting from before was about. He catches you staring and raises his eyebrow; you arch your own and mime texting on a phone, to which he nods slightly, the other eyebrow rising to join the first. You’re not sure whether he’s impressed you noticed or that he’s amused that you were watching so intently.

“Before any of you shout out that we don’t need a tourist – which is true, we don’t, least not on an operation as delicate at this – the whole point is that she has to see us actually do it before she holds out her end of the deal.” Harley gives a cheerful nod, and Dirk mutters something under his breath, likely not anything polite, and then continues, “So no one try to, like, kill her or anything. Cool?”

John is the only one who murmurs agreement; everyone else merely nods.

“All right, then!” Harley claps her hand together, seemingly unperturbed as she grins from ear to ear. “Let’s go!”

* * *

JOHN

Roxy comes up behind you in line at the airport – after Rose and Dave and everyone else have already been checked into the plane, you notice. You don’t say anything about it, but you suppose that she is the odd one out of the group, not counting Kanaya.

“This Thursday,” she says hesitantly, and you unintentionally drop your boarding pass because you’re graceful like that when she asks, “It is the anniversary of your dad’s death, is it not?”

You lean down to pick up your pass before you answer. “Yes,” you say, a little quietly, before adding, “Though I don’t know how you figured it out.”

“When you looked at me. After mentioning when the funeral was, at the warehouse.” Roxy shrugs, as the attendant at the desk scans your pass, tearing it up and giving you the small half of it. You wait for her until she is through, and she adds, a little unnecessarily, “I guessed.”

“It kind of pisses me off,” you say, walking alongside her. She’s tall, you notice, now that you’re standing next to her – just the barest bit shorter than you, actually, to your surprise. “Of course she’d pick that day to celebrate her death.”

“Jane seems to like her.”

“No, you don’t understand.” The corridor leading to the airplane is only so long; you couldn’t explain exactly what the whole thing is about to her in time, even if you wanted to. Which, to your surprise, you find you do, so you give her the gist of it instead. “Grandma always had this – I can’t even describe it. I guess the closest would be… a way with people? Spend too long with her, and she warps your mind into following her, without even trying.”

For her part, Roxy doesn’t question you on this. Instead, she asks, “So why did you not try to get Jane away?”

“I did,” you reply, and then a little more sadly, “She didn’t want to leave.”

Roxy hums and keeps silent. Neither of you say anything until you’re at the entrance of the airplane, in fact, and then her lips brush your cheek and she whispers a short, simple “good luck” in your ear before she darts ahead of you into the first-class cabin. You echo a little late, a little quiet, a little red in the face, and you pointedly ignore the identical looks Dave and Rose shoot you, the latter seated, the former standing.

Dave returns his attention to rummaging around the carry-on compartment, and you can see that he has removed his glasses and put brown contacts in – likely to remain unrecognized by your sister. Speaking of whom, you get up from your seat and wait by the entrance for her, nodding at Dave to ensure that he remains in his position until Jane arrives.

She does so without fanfare, red of eye and face, and you swoop in to give her a hug, turning with her under your arm so you have to shove your way past Dave. He does it so quickly you wouldn’t even think of it, but then Jane’s passport is in his hands, which he passes to Dirk as he goes to take a seat behind you. Jane is seated directly across from you with Dirk behind, and everyone else buckles in as you crouch by your sister’s seat and comfort her in a low voice.

Even she can tell you’re not really sorry, but for once in her life, she doesn’t call you out on it. You suppose that she’s taking all the support she can get, and dial down the fakeness a little bit.

It’s only when the flight actually takes off that Dirk taps Jane’s shoulder. His shades have also been removed, his hair has been hidden under a stylish hat whose name you do not know, and his eyes are plain, light blue – you can guess that his eyes aren’t that typical color, given you’ve seen Dave’s scarlet irises (a long time ago, back when you thought he was the one. Good old college days), and you quickly turn your head so you aren’t staring.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I think you dropped this,” he says in a low voice. His pronunciation is usually precise to the point of surgical; now you can hear him copying a Southern drawl, likely pulled from years of hearing Dave talk. It sounds legit, at any rate. “It is yours, isn’t it?”

Jane starts, looks back and sees what’s being offered, and takes the passport after a moment’s hesitation. “Thank you,” she says softly.

She’s about to look ahead again when Dirk says, “I can’t help but notice that your surname is Crocker, miss.” Pause. “You don’t happen to be related to Crocker Corp., do you? Betty Crocker, perchance?”

“My grandmother,” Jane replies, unsure of where the discussion is going but willing to play along for now.

“My condolences. She was a wonderful businesswoman,” Dirk says gravely. He is very convincing, though you can see Dave trying and failing to conceal a smirk. “I’m certain she died with honor.”

Jane nods wordlessly. She looks a little pale as she turns forward, and you have to admire the bravery she is showing at the moment, as you reach across the aisle and offer your hand. She takes it after a few moments, squeezing it briefly before letting go as the flight attendant comes by.

“Care for a drink?” he asks Dirk. His name tag reads Equius.

“Water.”

He nods, glances at Jane. “And for you, madame?”

“Same, thank you,” she says. You watch as nonchalantly as you can while Rose, sitting behind him, carefully palms the sedative into Dirk’s hand, which he drops into the water the flight attendant offers him before passing it to your sister.

“To your grandmother,” he says, taking a water of his own, and Jane offers a weak, watery smile, touching his plastic glass to her before downing over half of it. You know she’s trembling quite a bit, and the water helps her calm down – and in just a few moments, she sets her cup down and leans back into her chair, sighing deeply as her eyes shut. Tears leak from beneath her eyelids regardless, and you can’t help the pang in your chest, as you wonder what awful, twisted thing your grandmother did to her to make your sister mourn her so. Then you feel guilty for even thinking that, vaguely, as you watch your sister’s breathing slow as she relaxes into the folds of sleep. Your grandmother wasn’t inherently evil; it was what she did, in hopes for her own advancement, that boded ill.

But then, perhaps those things were two and the same.

After a few moments, you unbuckle from your seat and go over to shake Jane’s shoulder. She does not stir, even as you intensify your motions, and so you nod to the Strider brothers. It’s mesmerizing to watch them work, as the two of them stand and whip off disguises – contacts popping out of their eyes in mere seconds, hats being stowed into overhead compartments as a silver case comes from Dirk’s sylladex, and he quickly extends tubes to each person in the cabin save yourself as Dave busies himself with the inner-workings of the device. They are ready in minutes, and they take their own seats, inserting needles into their hands. The others’ tubes lead to Roxy, and she gives you a shaky smile as you position yourself at the silver case, the flight attendant hovering nearby.

“Are we ready?” you ask the cabin at large.

Jade lets out a whoop, which you figure is all you need, and so you press down on the button and hold your breath as the counter begins flicking down, one number at a time.

* * *

DIRK

You find yourself in the streets of New York City, quiet with only a few cars and passerby about, driving some sort of sketchy white van that your son could probably name no problem. Harley and Roxy are sitting primly in the backseat, with Dave one more row behind them, and you pull over to see Rose hurrying closer with a silver case in her hand.

“Did you have to pick snow, love?” Dave asks, as she slips in besides him.

“My apologies,” she says, though she doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest at the thick white coating the buildings around them, chilling the air. “I was merely thinking of home. I would take thanks in the fact it is not raining.”

“That’s reassuring,” Harley says, as Kanaya runs around the corner and, upon seeing the full backseat, aims for shotgun. She is elegant in every sense of the word, and you don’t miss the way both Rose and Dave eye her as she comes closer before the two exchange glances. You resist the urge to snort; those two are perfect for each other, regardless of what other people might say.

“I have never seen so much snow in one place,” Kanaya says a little breathlessly as she gets in and shuts the door behind her. You absently crank the heat up as you peel off the curb, and she flashes you a grateful smile.

“In my hometown, it was possible to have five feet of snow on the ground at any given time,” Rose says with a lift of her eyebrows. She, at least, only ogles the woman when there is no chance of detection; Dave, with his shades, is free to do so liberally, and you can tell he is doing so, as Rose adds, “I do apologize for it, but at the very least, there is not two meters of it on the ground.”

Kanaya grimaces, muttering “ _merde_ ” under her breath, as Roxy says hesitantly, “At least we know she will be looking for a taxi, right?”

“True,” you concede, and then say, “New plan: get her to hail out taxi and get her at gunpoint – we’ll need you for that, Harley. Can you do it?”

“Not much of a tourist now, huh?” she says with a grin. “Consider it done!”

It takes you all of five minutes to locate a taxicab and speed up to ram into it. The taxi driver gets out, stalking over to you with a murderous expression on his face, and he is practically in hysterics by the time he gets over to you – but he quietly goes off when Harley points a gun at him from the backseat, and then Dave’s out of the car and hopping into the taxi, driving off with you close behind.

“Won’t she recognize him?” Rose asks, concern giving her voice a sharp edge.

“Eh,” you say, and then you tap your shades. You can see Dave nod in his rearview mirror and remove his, slipping them into his breast pocket, and then you say, “He’s a forger, Lalonde, and a bloody clever one at that. Have a little faith.”

“It is not he who I am doubting, Dirk,” she says, no less sharply, but at the very least she falls silent, and Jade and Kanaya wisely keep quiet.

You and your brother find Jane at a corner, and per your hopes, she flags him down. Kanaya and Harley are quick to exit the sedan and make their way over to them, Harley stuffing all of her hair under a hat somehow as Kanaya slips dark glasses over her eyes, and then the woman opening the door to sit beside Jane while Harley takes the front and points a honest-to-god shotgun at Jane’s face. Even you can tell from this distance that the shotgun is a very _big_ shotgun as you wait besides a stoplight.

You say, “I think she’s having a little too much fun.” You see Roxy open her mouth to reply when a gunshot definitely not from Harley’s gun shatters the taxicab’s window, and then Dave is screeching the car away and you put the pedal to the metal to follow.

Or you would, if a giant fucking freight train wasn’t blocking your way, _where the fuck did that come from_ echoing in your mind even though you already know the answer. Rose’s face is carefully composed, though her eyes are narrowed, but Roxy’s eyes are wide with fear as the van teeters, threatening to tumble on its side, as the train slowly grinds it way through the streets. You can still hear gunfire, and as soon as the van straightens itself out you’re streaking down the streets, pulling ahead and turning with loud protest from the tires in order to get on the same block as Dave’s car.

“What the ever-loving shit is going on?” Roxy yells from the back, as you whip the unwieldy van around, slipping around on the snow and ice coating the ground.

“Wish I knew!” you shout, hot on Dave’s tail as gunfire and, at some point, people with different kind of syllabi go after him. “You didn’t put a train here, did you?”

“Of course not!”

Dave’s car skids to a halt in front of you, blocked by a black SUV, and you watch, terrified, breathless, driving fast as men in black suits approach, one of them holding a fucking flamethrower while another has a lacrosse stick. Kanaya, you can see, is yanking a sack over Jane’s head as she pushes her down in the seat, sudden gunfire shattering the windows and peppering the seats as Dave and Harley duck. The car moves suddenly – goddamn, your brother was pushing the accelerator without seeing where he was going – and hits two of three of the advancing men, while you crunch into the SUV and create a gap where Dave can escape.

You don’t dare try and drive away until Dave sits up, throws the car in reverse, and forcibly squeezes the car through the gap, metal crunching and gravel flying as he does so, and then you follow, driving at speeds that should have had you arrested in five seconds flat in the real world.

* * *

ROSE

Dirk is furious by the time he pulls the van into the warehouse, eyebrows knitted into a tight line as Kanaya shoves the shutter down shut behind him and you and Roxy get out of the car. He’s already advancing on his brother by the time you shut the doors, though you hadn’t even seen him turn off the ignition, and the pair of you exchange glances as Kanaya catches up to you before following.

“What the hell was that, bro!” he shouts, as Dave gets out and circles the car to shotgun. You immediately feel a sense of dread at Dave’s carefully, unbelievably neutral expression, as he opens the door and reaches inside. “When you said you did the research, I thought you meant that you – Jesus Christ. Is she dying?”

“Hard to say,” Dave says, and he’s holding Jade Harley in his arms. Her eyes are open and her teeth are gritted as she presses hard on her stomach – and as you get closer, you can see she is bleeding profusely. “How’re you doing, Harley?”

“Been better,” she responds tightly, and she lets out an agonized hiss as Dave gently sets her down on the nearest flat surface, which happens to be a table nearby. Convenient, you think to yourself as you place yourself next to him, and Harley spits, “ _Fuck_ this hurts, ow ow ow.”

“Where were you, bro?” Dave asks Dirk, as he reaches pops a roll of bandages out of his sylladex. He’s about to gently pull up Jade’s shirt when you lay a hand over his; then he lets you take over, standing aside as you neatly take his place, as your fiancé goes on, “If you’d been a bit quicker with the whole smashing thing, this could’ve been avoided, you know.”

“Blocked by a freight train,” Dirk says tightly, hands fisted at his sides.

There's a pause the length of a heartbeat before Dave groans and says, “Fuck, you can’t be serious. This is the worst of times. I thought you didn’t even know the layout!”

You have no idea what Dave is talking about, and he pointedly ignores your questioning glance. You’ll ask him later, and instead you look over at your little sister, briefly, as you examine Harley’s wound, though she shakes her head, insistent that the train had not been her fault. You believe her wholeheartedly, but the more concerning part at the moment was that there was a bullet in Harley’s body, nestled somewhere in the flesh of her lower stomach to the left, and if you had any sort of proper tool you’re sure you could get it out. As it is, you have only a pair of knitting needles, and you doubt that would be of any use – plus, in any case, this is merely a dream.

“My apologies, miss Harley,” you murmur. “I’m afraid I will not be able to remove the bullet.”

“S’okay,” the other woman manages, lime-green eyes narrowed. “I’ve had worse. Plus you could always kill me, right? So I’ll wake up?”

“I’m afraid not,” you reply, gazing over at the Strider brothers. They are currently engaged in a staring contest over their shades; you get the idea an entire conversation is passing between them. “The sedative is far too strong. I cannot say what might happen if you were to be killed right now.”

This catches the brothers’ attention, or perhaps your cold stare does – either way, Dirk jumps into the conversation and corrects, “You’ll go into Limbo, miss Harley. Not a good idea.” Almost immediately he’s back on Dave, as he snaps, “Why did you not know she had training for this?”

“Look, darling, it wasn’t in her files, and we’ve dealt with this sort of shit before,” Dave says, and you can tell he's unnerved because he only ever says 'darling' with people he doesn't know or those he is making fun of. “Minus the whole, yanno. Limbo thing.”

“What is Limbo?” Roxy asks, as you bandage Harley’s wound as best as you are able.

“Unconstructed dream space,” Dave says blandly, and you give him an annoyed look – he hadn’t ever told you this before. There’s an apology in his red eyes when he flashes a brief glance at you, as he goes on, “What bro is saying is that your mind will drop into it as opposed to waking up if you die in this dream.”

“And given the power of the sedative,” you say before trailing off, running mental calculations in your head. Ten minutes in the real world meant two hours here, two hours here meant a day one layer down, a day there meant one and a quarter years one more, and beyond that… “It’s so far below that it could mean decades, even centuries.”

“So what you are saying is that if we die, we are doomed to a lonely life in a world of infinite possibilities,” Kanaya says out of nowhere. You finish with Harley’s bandage and pull her bloody shirt back down, and she gives you a grimace of thanks, one she likely meant to be a smile. “And you did not mention this sooner because?”

Dirk sighs. Then he flicks his sunglasses up and stares her square in the eye. You find yourself recoiling despite yourself, because he suddenly looks ten times more intimidating than you’ve ever seen him, his jaw set, deep shadows inked into the skin under his eyes. “I am a desperate man, Kanaya Maryam,” he says quietly. His voice carries all around the room, and you, Roxy and Jade remain perfectly still, as if knowing the stakes of interrupting him. “I did what I had to in order to get to my son, and this is the only way to go three layers deep.”

“But what is down there?” she asks, insists, really. “If one of us does fall, what do we need to expect?”

“Infinite creation, darling,” Dave says, devoid of all expression as he stands next to his brother. “Nothing but what was left by one of us. Bro, in this case, since he’s the only one who’s been – ”

Jade lets out a long, drawn-out hiss, despite the fact she is trying to hide her pain, interrupting Dave into silence. Dirk looks towards the car; inside, Crocker is attempting to remove the sack on her head, though her hands have been handcuffed and Kanaya seems to have done a superb job securing it.

“We have to do this quick.” Dirk’s shades flick down over his nose. “Dave, go get ready. Kanaya, you get Crocker. And Roxy, you’re coming with me.”

“Why should I?” Roxy crosses her arms over her chest. There is fear in her pink eyes, and you don’t dare reach out a reassuring hand with Harley's blood on your fingers as it is. “There is absolutely no reason why I should go further. I would be safer camping out here!”

She looks around at everyone to see who agrees with her, if anyone. You glance at Dave, see his expression is set; he knew the risks, but he came anyway, and you will stay with him for as long as it takes. Kanaya is expressionless, but you’ve known her well-enough to understand she can see no good way out of the situation, and Roxy, finding no other dissenters, takes a few short breaths and hugs herself with her arms.

“Even if you were to stay, you would not survive,” Dirk says, not gently, but not harshly, either. “We’re safe here for now, but once Crocker’s subconscious finds us, you’re as good as dead if you remain here. There’s a reason we came in with a van; in order for the point woman to survive, she needs to be constantly on the move.”

Roxy lets out a strangled noise and then flashes over and presses herself to you. You can feel her fright in the tension of her muscles as you gingerly hug her back, mindful of the blood on your hands, and you whisper, “It will be all right, Roxy,” as you turn your head to face Dirk. “I will go in her place,” you tell him, and then you show him your red fingers. “I think this will be most convincing.”

Dirk tilts his head in acknowledgement, as Dave busies himself with the camera of his iPhone, touching his face with his free hand as his shades disappear into his sylladex. You don’t stay around to watch, instead accepting the balaclava Dirk offers you and slipping it over your head, as Kanaya drags Crocker out of the car and forces her onto Dirk’s waiting grip. You’re not quite sure what to think when, upon glancing back, you see Feferi’s face atop Dave’s body; still, you have faith in him.

And, since he believes in his brother despite everything contradictory happening and such, you know that you are going to have to believe in Dirk as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next installment: The crew descends to the next layer, Jane Crocker gets interrogated, Dave Strider looks a lot less like Dave Strider, Dirk Strider has issues, Roxy Lalonde gets her shit together, Rose Lalonde and Kanaya Maryam have a bonding moment, and Jade Harley remains no less wounded than before. Also, Terezi Pyrope remains (un)curiously absent, and John Egbert and Equius Zahhak get a brief cameo.


	6. reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the script of _Inception_ :
> 
> ARTHUR: What about his security? It’s going to get worse as we go deeper.  
> COBB: We bring in Mr. Charles.  
> ARTHUR: No.  
> EAMES: Who’s Mr. Charles?  
> ARTHUR: A bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late update again, apologies, school, tests, exams, et cetera et cetera. Here you go.

KANAYA

Dirk yanks the sack off of Jane’s head with such violence that the miss Crocker cries out in pain. He pointedly ignores your critical look, instead flipping the blade in his hand, and you mentally sigh and rev your chainsaw, further adding to your threat value. Nearby, Rose stands straight and tall, arms folded neatly across her bosom, looking very much the leader behind the rabble. Accordingly, Jane looks straight at her.

“I’m insured against kidnapping for ten million,” she says steadily, cyan eyes clear. She hardly looks nervous. “This could be very simple if you would – ”

“It’s not simple,” Dirk says, changing his voice once again from the Southern you heard on the plane to a sort of Bostonian accent. He is very good at it, and you feel a little odd finding that it sounds less disturbing than his normal pronunciation, where each word is clipped and precise. “Not simple at all, miss Crocker.”

Miss Crocker purses her lips, tugging gently at the handcuff securing her to a metal radiator attached to the wall. Her free hand rises to catch a pair of red glasses she ejects from her sylladex, which she props on the bridge of her nose as she squints at him. “I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“The safe, miss Crocker.” Rose’s voice is smooth as silk and drips with venom. “The one is your grandmother’s office. We know you have the combination.”

“I have never laid eyes on a safe in Grandmother’s room,” miss Crocker says stonily. “I’ve been in there frequently enough to know there cannot be one.”

“Behind the bookshelf, there is a button that opens the panel hiding the safe. You know the combination.” Dirk’s blade moves in, invisibly quick, to press against miss Crocker’s throat as Rose speaks, causing the heiress to choke on a breath – though you notice he carefully uses the back of the single-edged blade. “Give it to us.”

“I don’t know the combination,” the girl insists, and though she continues to look steely, the mask is starting to slip; you can see the glistening of her eyes, the fists at her sides, the shallow intake of her breath. “I don’t know what to say to convince you, but I don’t know the combination.”

You rev your chainsaw again and she swallows hard as Rose moves in, leaning down and touching her face with a finger, gently forcing her chin up to meet her exotic lavender eyes. “Are you quite sure, my dear? We have it on good faith that you do.”

“Who could possibly – ” miss Crocker begins, and then a piercing scream ricochets off the walls and her eyes widen, as she suddenly jerks forward. “Who is that? Who are you – ?”

“Good faith,” Rose says, another scream ripping through the air, and then you and Dirk step out of the room.

* * *

DAVE

“Jesus,” Roxy says, unplugging her ears, and you relent and let out a laugh. She looks increasingly perturbed. “That is even worse, your voice coming out of her body. Her voice is _shrill_.”

“True that,” Jade says weakly from her table. You can tell moving is agonizing for her, but the pain has done little to keep her otherwise silent.

“Sorry,” you say, copying Feferi’s locution again, practicing the wild, excited motions, bouncing on your feet. You’d feel weird being someone else if you hadn’t done it hundreds of times before, and being Feferi is trying for someone who is considerably more reserved than she. “I’ll probably have to do it again.”

“Bluh,” Jade says eloquently, and then something must happen because her face scrunches up and she says nothing more. You take a look at her bloody form for a few moments, wondering if you would be able to withstand it like she is, before you turn to Roxy.

“You think I have enough bruises and shit on my face?”

She considers you for a moment. “Add a cut right there,” she says, reaching over to tap your forearm. At your questioning look, she looks embarrassed and explains, “She is tridentkind, right? If Dirk hit her with his sword in one of the tines, it would slip and slice her there if she had not been careful.”

Wow. That’s. That’s much more in-depth than you were expecting. “Good call,” you say, tracing a finger over the designated area on your arm. Your skin bursts and blooms with blood, and you quickly blacken it so it’s dry and looks as if it’s been there for a few days. “Remind me not to get on your bad side when I get married.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you can think of things that specifically that quickly, I’d rather not know what you do when you’re angry.” Roxy lets out a snort as footsteps echo from behind, and you turn to see Dirk and Kanaya advancing on you, balaclavas hiding their features but doing nothing to disguise the way they walk. Dirk has this flat, boring non-swagger stride, but Kanaya does this hip-shimmy thing that you can tell Rose digs the shit out of. So do you, if you’re being honest. “Yo.”

“’Sup,” Dirk says, and then catches something Roxy tosses to him. “What’s this?”

“Photo of the rabbit,” Roxy replies with a shrug. In her hands is a small, rectangular red and cyan object. “It was in her wallet that she threw at Dave in the taxi, apparently.”

“Feferi,” you correct as obnoxiously as you are able, pitching your voice high enough to possibly break glass. Roxy is the only one who finds this funny, as Jade lets out a hiss for you to shut up and Dirk and Kanaya merely give you identical looks through their balaclavas. “Fine,” you mutter, and then you ask, “Gonna be honest, bro, the rabbit seems like the key point to hit here.”

“Seems so,” Dirk says, tucking the photo into his sylladex. He nods at you. “You’re up. ‘Fraid you don’t get as much time as promised, but I’m sure you’ll get something useful. Get her to drop a number, at least.”

“’Course. Should I scream again?”

“Can’t hurt,” Dirk says, and Roxy slaps her hands over her ears as you open your mouth and let out an earsplitting screech. Kanaya doesn’t even flinch, but Dirk does, and then he says, “Criminy, bro, that was awful in the best way possible.”

“It’s effortless, darling.”

“I would hate to hear it when you are trying,” Kanaya says mildly, and you chuckle, following her and your brother through the winding hallway towards the bathroom.

Once you’re closer, to the point where you can hear Crocker weepily pleading to Rose to leave Feferi alone, you stop and quickly make your face blotchy, your eyes swollen, tears running down your face. “How do I s-sound?” you ask, making your voice hiccup, sniffing a few times. You are the most convincing motherfucker on the planet, it is you.

“Stellar,” Dirk says approvingly. “Now all we have to do is manhandle you inside.”

“My favorite,” you reply with a crooked grin, and you offer Kanaya your arm before you let her drag you along. It hurts and stings where your skin rubs across the floor, but it seems convincing enough when Kanaya throws you onto the floor next to Jane and handcuffs you to her.

“Five minutes,” Rose says, giving you both a cutting look that is remotely teasing when it falls on you. You don’t dare let a sliver of a grin peek through when she adds, “If you don’t know the numbers by then, there will be consequences.”

Crocker gives her a frantic bob of her head, and once they are gone she turns to you, eyes wide and struck with pity as she touches the fake bruises on your face. You flinch away as if it hurts as she whispers, “Oh, Feferi, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

You give her a pained smile, flinching as it pulls on the split lip you do not have. “Don’t worry about me – I’m fine.” You give her a careful looking-over, and ask her, “You are unharmed?”

She nods, and then says tearfully, softly, “I don’t know what’s going on.”

You take a few breaths, mentally preparing yourself for acting in Feferi’s character. What would she do in a situation like this? Given what you need to tell Crocker – Jane, think of her as Jane – right now, you’re going to have to do this carefully.

Your smile fades, as you tell her solemnly, “They’ve had me here for two days, miss Crocker. I think they have someone on the inside, because they thought I’d know the combination to Madame Crocker’s safe, even though I don’t.” You give her a weak grin. “But you do, right?”

Jane shakes her head, and your shoulders slump, as you mime confusion on your face. “But the Madame said only you would be able to open it, after she… you know.”

“I don’t know it, Feferi.” Jane sounds crushed, and you would feel bad if it wasn’t just another job and another target.

“But – maybe she told the combination to you a long time ago? Maybe you can remember?” Hope is Feferi’s shining beacon, and you let it light up your face as you gaze at Jane. “Maybe she told you the combination, but you didn’t realize it at the time! You have to know it!”

“The few times she spoke to me never went well.”

“M-maybe after your father died?” you try. Jesus, the relationship between the two was much more strained than you’d been led to believe. _Perfect_. “Um, I know she wanted to talk to you personally after – ”

“Do you want to know what she said to me then, Feferi?” Jane asks, her cyan eyes becoming stony. You can see the businesswoman in her, as she locks down on her emotions and clears her head. “She said that ‘it’s for my own good.’ That it would make me stronger.”

“The Madame was never good with emotional things, Jane,” you say, a little hysterically. “But she loved you, in her own way. I know she did!”

“Loved?” Jane purses her lips. On the inside, you are gleeful; on the outside, you are earnest desperation. The only thing left to do was to twist this to your advantage, to plant the beginnings of the idea, to get a random number from her. “Maybe so, but do you know the last thing she said to me?”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head, hugging your legs to yourself.

“‘Disappointed,’ she said.” Jane lets out a hollow laugh, past fear and tears forgotten. “Of everything she said, that was the one word I remembered. She was disappointed in me, Feferi. Everything I’d done, everything I’d left – she was _disappointed_.”

The best response here is to say nothing, and so you do exactly that.

* * *

ROXY

You hear footsteps and turn your head to see Dirk pulling off his balaclava as he approaches, shaking out his hair as he does so. It falls effortlessly into the spikes from before – you’d thought he used gel, but apparently you were mistaken.

“How’re you doing, Harley?” he asks, brushing up next to the client. He doesn’t quite ignore you, but it’s enough of a snub to make you frown.

“I don’t know why people keep asking me that,” Jade replies, eyes narrowed in pain. She shifts slightly and complains hoarsely, “I mean, does it look like I’m doing okay?”

“Not at all. But be assured, the pain won’t be so bad the next layer down.” He gives the woman’s arm an absent pat and then turns, shoving a hand through his hair and sighing. You watch him silently for a few moments, turning your head to see that Jade’s in her own world, bearing the agony of a bullet in her side.

“About the freight train,” you begin, and Dirk holds up a hand to silence you, which you ignore spectacularly as you say, “that was you, was it not?” He doesn’t say anything, and you repeat, “Was it not?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That does not convince me in the slightest,” you say fiercely. He gives you a sideways glance, cold and cutting, that you ignore through sheer willpower. “Jake English was the reason I did not want to help you, but now that I am here, you should at least tell me what is going on.”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Dirk responds stonily. Gunfire, which had been present for quite some time outside, is slowly intensifying, and you watch as he ejects a pistolkind syllabus and allocates it to his strife syllabus. The gun he pulls out is of older make, and you can see EctoBio Inc. scrawled in large letters on the muzzle. “I have it under control.”

“Dave does not seem to think so.”

“Well, Dave – ” here he flicks the safety off and moves towards the window – “can go suck a dick.” He leans against the wall, pistol held loosely in hand, pointing it down towards the concrete floor. You can tell he is scanning outside for possible threats, and this is when you notice Jade could be easily seen through a window across from you. You whisper an apology to her as you go over and carefully drag the desk backwards as Dirk goes on, “I can’t tell you that you’re completely safe from my subconscious, but I can assure you that Jake won’t be appearing any time soon.”

You grunt in response, having pulled the desk far enough, and amid the increasing volume in gunfire you tell him, “That does not mean you will not ever make a freight train crash through the wall again.”

Dirk shifts. Slightly, but enough for you to notice, even from your distance. “That was once,” he says, maintaining his position against the wall. He hasn’t shown any indication that someone has gotten close enough to shoot, so you keep your own gun in your sylladex. “It won’t happen again.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Lalonde.” Ouch. He’s downgraded to calling you by your last name. “And if you’re really so concerned, take solace in the fact that Dave will keep me in line.”

“What if he is not around?” you insist. “What if he dies and you do not have a person to ‘keep you in line’? Where does that leave us? Would we all be trapped in limbo?”

Dirk looks at you. His anime shades flash when he does so, but you don’t shrink back. If Rose can intimidate this man, so can you.

“If Dave dies, we’ll have a shit-ton of other things to worry about.” His voice is a near growl. “We have enough point men and women to hold us over, but he’s our only experienced forger, and you’re the only architect.”

“You are not answering the question – ”

“So if anyone is going to die, it’s going to be me, or Rose, or Kanaya. Harley has to pull through, as do you and Dave, but the rest of us are expendable.” In a flash of movement, the window he’s standing by is open and he’s firing, just one single shot, and then he’s pressed back against the wall, the window shut. “So to answer your question, Dave isn’t going to die, and if he does, then we’re fucking doomed.”

That wasn’t even a valid response to what you had asked, but given that Dirk is now returning gunfire, you figure you can spare him an interrogation and pop your own gun out of your sylladex. He stares when he turns around and sees you hefting a rifle more than half as long as you are tall, and doesn’t cease doing so when you shove a magazine in and meander over to him.

“What, have you not ever seen riflekind before?” you ask him, shoving the window open and pressing your cheek to the stock, both eyes open as you spy your target. A neat pull of the trigger, a jerk of your shoulder, and they’re falling to the ground, dead. You feel nauseated but don’t show it as you say, “I am letting it go for now, mister Strider, but this is not over.”

He sounds vaguely impressed as he says, “Fair enough.”

You show him a flash of teeth and say, “Now move out of the way, you are a piss-poor shot and I am embarrassed to watch you.”

He snorts at that, but obediently sidesteps. You send him a halfhearted glare, take his spot, and immediately shoot down another sniper on the opposite rooftop.

* * *

DAVE

“Jane, I reely hate to tell you this, but these people are going to kill us if we don’t give them the combination.”

“No they won’t,” Jane says reflexively. You suppose that makes the sense; given how often people had tried to kill her, she would’ve developed a defense mechanism to ensure her safety. _Though_ , you muse, _given how she isn’t dead yet, I guess it’s more like intuition than a mechanism_. “They’ll just ransom us. Everyone’s always in it for money.”

“But Janey, I heard them talk,” you say, eyes wide. “They’re planning on stuffing us into that dirty old car and driving it into the river!” You pray there’s a river nearby in order to make this a true statement – then again, this is New York, and Roxy has delivered beautifully so far.

“But I don’t know the combination!” Jane says, exasperated, but you can see fear starting to gnaw at her again. “Feferi, what’s even in the safe? You must know, since they dragged you here…”

_Perfect_ , again. Just what you needed to lay the trap. “It’s a – well, the Madame always said it was a will,” you reply, a little hesitantly.

“But Grandmother’s will is – ”

“The will in the safe can supersede that other one,” you interrupt, thinking quickly, and then you soften as you add, “but only if you want it to.”

“Do you know what it does?”

You nod, and tell her, “She told me that it takes all the component businesses of Crocker Corp. and divides them into individual companies. Then ownership is split between those companies.”

Jane’s brow furrows as she processes this. When she does, she says flatly, “Leaving me nothing.”

“Well, not just nothing,” you amend, and she gives you a withering look when you say, “You’ll have a basic living, enough to do something, I think.”

“But why? What’s the point? Why would Grandmother want me to destroy the company she’d built from her own two hands?” Jane rubs a knuckle against her forehead. “That’s my inheritance!”

“I don’t know,” you respond, the lie coming easily to your tongue, and then you shrug and say, brightly, “Maybe she wanted you to make your own way?”

“I doubt it,” Jane replies miserably. She jumps when a hard knock sounds on the door – Rose’s cue. You hide any reaction as Jane says desperately, “What do I do? I don’t know the number. It could be anything!”

“Calm down, miss Crocker, we’ll find a way out of this - ”

Rose then sweeps into the room, elegantly terrifying with Kanaya and her chainsaw backing her up. Your fiancée is holding a phone in her hand, and she points directly at Jane. “Well?” she asks, charmingly off-putting. “I hope you’ve come to your senses, miss Crocker. Give us the number.”

“I don’t know the number!” Jane practically shouts, tugging hard enough at her handcuffs that she drags your wrist. You let out a faint hiss, and she immediately stops moving, casting you a worried glance before looking back and pleading, “I didn’t even know there was a safe!”

“The _number_ , miss Crocker.”

“I don’t – ” Jane cowers when Kanaya revs her chainsaw and sputters, “four one three six one two, I don’t know, it could be – ”

Rose holds up an imperious hand and listens. You make a mental note to tell her how she rocks the balaclava like the best of them, somehow making herself look badass in something that was literally a sock for the head.

“You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid,” Rose says, her phone pulling away from her ear, and Jane lets out a small, pained noise as she whirls and exits the room, Kayana on her heels. The door slams behind them with enough force to rattle the room.

You let the silence stretch on for a bit before saying weakly, “Well, it could be worse. Right?”

* * *

ROSE

Dave’s job is nearly finished, as far as you can tell – he has planted the idea, with Crocker thoroughly convinced he was her trusted bodyguard, and Crocker had given you a number to work with. You peel yourself away from the door after a few more seconds of hearing them talk, feeling more amused than anything else that Dave can sound so ridiculously peppy and convincing when his entire personality is opposite of what you are hearing.

“He certainly is a character,” Kanaya agrees neutrally when you voice your thoughts as such. You give her a sidelong glance – you and her have known each other for a very long time, having been (more than) good friends during university years, and you suppose she must have noticed both you and Dave eyeing her. “It has been a while since I talked with him, however, so I suppose you would know better than I.”

You incline your head, neither confirming nor denying, and she gives you a sliver of a smile – and then you take her hand when she offers it to you, because while bantering may all be well and good, you have not felt this afraid in many years. From her tight grip on your fingers, you’re willing to guess that the feeling is mutual.

Footsteps approach, and you turn to see Dirk absently flipping his katana in his hand, balaclava held loosely in the other. Neither you nor Kanaya pull away, and Dirk registers the contact with a ripple of his shoulders, before asking you, “How’s it going in there?”

“Smoothly,” you say, keeping your voice intentionally blank. “He has done all that he needs to, and we have obtained a number.”

Dirk nods, shoves the balaclava over his head, and he’s inside before you can even blink. There’s a bit of a tussle inside, and then Jane’s shrieking and Dave is yelling as Dirk drags him out, slamming the door shut with a solid hit with his shoulder. Dave continues to scream for quite some time, slowly quietening as the four of you walk away from Crocker’s makeshift prison.

After a while Dave sighs, shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair – and just like that he’s Dave again, and he flicks his shades onto his face from his sylladex before looking at you. “Hoggin’ her all to yourself, love?” he asks, and you give him a devilish grin while Kanaya’s only reaction is to color slightly. He then turns to Dirk. “Something up, bro? I thought I’d have to keep the disguise a bit longer, since we have to get shoved into the truck and all that.”

“Van,” Dirk corrects absently, and then you’re all back in the main room and he’s gesturing to Roxy. Your little sister is sniping from the window, and you watch as she downs a woman three buildings away with a single bullet. Your heart swells with pride, even though she is killing people who technically don’t exist; she has become quite the shot. “I need you to keep people from getting in while Rose talks to Crocker a bit longer, and maybe keep an eye on Harley. She ain’t doing so hot.”

“She can also hear you, dickface,” Harley calls from across the room. You can see her expression is a tight grimace.

Dirk raises one hand in a pacifying gesture and looks over to you and Kanaya. “Do me a favor and bag Crocker for me?”

“Consider it done,” you say icily, ignoring Dave’s exasperated glance (no, you do not trust his brother, though you will follow him because he will), and you tug Kanaya along with you to return back to the bathroom. You hadn’t noticed it before, likely due to the focus you had on your task, but the gunfire is very loud now; you cannot stay in the warehouse for much longer, it seems.

You nearly forget to slip the balaclava over your face, but you do. When you open the door, Feferi’s scream tears through all background noise, a clear, piercing wail that is abruptly silenced – likely when Dirk physically stops Dave from screeching, because you’d agree that it had gotten old very quickly. Still, miss Crocker is convinced, and she sits ramrod straight, shaking, eyes focused straight ahead when you enter.

She does not resist when Kanaya bodily forces a bag over her head, and then you unlock her handcuff and snap, “Up.” She does this dutifully, and then you snake her arm into a vice grip and tug her out, exchanging a pained look with Kanaya. There were plenty of other, gentler ways of doing such an interrogation, but men would be men, and they clearly had thought intimidation would have been most effective. (Though to be fair, psychological warfare might be worse.)

You walk into the main room with the van to see Dirk wielding a pistol with an accuracy that leaves much to be desired, while Dave is saying with a grin, “Dream a little bigger, darling. Even Dirk can do better than that.”

Roxy has enough grace to bite her tongue as she glares at Dave, only for her eyes to widen when he pulls out an RPG that… you honestly hadn’t known that he had. He fires it out of the window once before handing it to Roxy, and then turns and, upon seeing you, comes over. He changes his steps to a staggering one about halfway there, and then he says piteously, “What have you done to her, you monster?” in Feferi’s high-pitched voice.

You wish he he would have given you a little warning, but it does as desired; Crocker begins to writhe in your grip while Dave lets out a startled sound that he muffles with his hands, as if he’d been bagged as well. He looks ridiculous, but he sounds convincing even amid the gunfire, and you suppose that is what really counts. “Shut up,” you say sharply, though Crocker does not cease wriggling, and you unceremoniously show her into the car while Kanaya gently eases Jade in through the other side.

“Let’s go!” you shout at Dirk and Roxy, who immediately abandon their posts to come racing to the car. You’re the point woman in this layer, and you’d rather get a big a head start as you can, as you slip into the driver’s seat.

* * *

ROXY

Your sister, as it turns out, is the best worst driver you’ve ever seen. She cuts corners so sharply the car tilts, but never enough for it to fall on it sides, and she speeds through the landscape with such sudden swerves and twists that you think you might throw up, but then she never hits a thing.

“I would hate to see you in a racecar,” you say to her from shotgun. Next to you, Jade’s eyes are half-lidded in pain.

“All in a day’s work,” she replies with a grin, and then Dave’s thrusting a tube at you before clambering over suitcase and other crap on the ground to jab a needle into Jade’s wrist in the backseat. Gunfire peppers the side of the van and Rose yanks the wheel, sending Dave crashing into Kanaya. There is a brief scuffle until he is up on his feet.

“Sorry,” he says apologetically, pulling himself into his own seat and buckling up before slipping the needle through the vein of his own skin. Rose is snickering in the driver’s seat, and he reaches over to lightly slap her shoulder. This just makes her laugh harder, and he sighs dramatically and ignores her. “You ready for this, bro?”

“If I don’t have a heart attack first,” his brother replies. Kanaya turns around to give thumbs up; she’s ready to go as well, and you quickly insert your own needle and tube into your wrist. “Everyone set?” A round of nods and he raises his voice. “Listen, bro, since she has security here, we’re going to have to do the whole Mr. Charles thing.”

“Oh, great, which means I need a decoy.” Dave makes a face and turns towards Rose. “Think Karkat will mind, love?”

“Not at all,” Rose responds. You wonder vaguely what they’re talking about – who is Mr. Charles? What did he mean by decoy? – but know better than to ask right at this moment. “Be sure to use the suit with the scarlet tie. He absolutely abhors it.”

“Naturally.”

“Rose,” Dirk says, and your sister glances at him briefly, “Please don’t swerve so much when we’re down there – the world’s going to be very unstable. And don’t forget about the kick, be careful about timing.”

“Ten minutes,” Rose says agreeably, “And then music over Roxy’s ears.” She takes the silver case Dave offers her and places it, bouncing, in her lap. “I make no promises, but I will make sure we are not shot.” She smiles softly at Dave in the rearview mirror, meets your eyes temporarily, and then says quietly, “See you all on the other side.”

Then her hand slams into the button, you close your eyes, and the noise fades away to nothing.

* * *

JOHN

You watch them all as they sleep – peaceful and serene, seemingly, but knowing Jane, they’ll probably run into problems soon enough.

“Care for a drink, sir?”

“John. And no, but thank you, Equius,” you reply, sitting back from the silver case and smiling at the him. He returns it hesitantly, and you say cheerfully, “Don’t worry! They’ll be up and about by the end of the trip. You can leave them alone until then.”

“If you say so,” he says. His voice is a rumble in his chest, and he looks like he might be a bodybuilder catching a ride, not a flight attendant.

“I know so,” you reply with a grin, and you feverishly hope you’re right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Karkat Vantas makes an extremely brief appearance, Dave Strider looks considerably less like Dave Strider and then considerably more like Dave Strider, Roxy Lalonde and Jade Harley attempt to blend in, Dirk Strider takes on the role of Mr. Charles, Jane Crocker is forever confused, Kanaya Maryam is The Best Point Woman Ever, and Rose Lalonde, John Egbert, Terezi Pyrope, Sollux Captor, Equius Zahhak, and Sebastian remain noticeably absent save for random cameos every now and then.
> 
> (I really should have capitalized every word. Eh, too late now.)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note - school makes the update rate of this fic slow. Very, very, v-e-r-y slow.
> 
> On another note, hit me up on [tumblr](http://snowsheba.tumblr.com) if you want to ask me something! This fic can be confusing to those who haven't seen the movie, but I'll do my best to explain it to you if you have any questions.


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